


Winter's Tale

by Entwinedlove



Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, Canon Temporary Character Death, F/M, Flashbacks, Gore, Historically Inaccurate, Hopeful Ending, Lust at First Sight, Period Typical Attitudes, Semi-Public Sex, Time Travel, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-10-24 14:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 103,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17705966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entwinedlove/pseuds/Entwinedlove
Summary: To the Wizarding World, Muggle-borns don't exist. To the mundane world, it's wizards themselves that don't. Hermione Granger lives in the shadowy spaces of both.A Time Travel epic with a tragic love story. Or maybe an epic Love Story that spans several tragic lifetimes. (Or maybe even a story of the life of some goats. Tangentially.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Other tags worth mentioning: Staged Suicide, Hermione doesn't get over her first love, Hits Stations of Canon for both MCU and HP, Disregards Black Panther, Infinity War, and Crimes of Grindelwald, Hermione Granger/Abraxas Malfoy (minor), Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanoff (implied)

**December 1984**

It was Christmastime. There was garland hung over the archway into the kitchen and an electric candle in the window. In the corner, there was a Christmas tree with a few presents wrapped underneath. One, in particular, was badly wrapped. That was Hermione's present for her mum. It was a green jumper. Jean Granger had purchased it, of course, but the wrapping had been all Hermione. It wasn't too bad considering she was only five.

Hermione knew she was smart, had been told she was precocious in that overly sweet syrupy tone her mother's friends and strangers alike all tended to speak to her with, but she wasn't sure if that was a bad thing or not. All she knew, as she stood on the third shelf of the bookcase to tug at the spine of her favourite book was that she liked to read.

The book slid free after another hard tug and Hermione tumbled onto the floor in a small heap. The book was held aloft and safe from damage from the floor. Unfortunately, half the shelf of books came with her. None landed on Hermione or the book she held. The noise alerted her mother.

Jean stepped into the sitting room from where she had been making dinner in the kitchen. "What are you—" she paused in her inquiry then taking note of Hermione, the position of the book, and the book itself, changed the direction of her question, "—That book again? Haven't you read everything in it?" She didn't bother mentioning the pile of books all around Hermione. That was a familiar enough scene. The little girl would take a moment when she wasn't so focused to put them all back in a stack for Jean to place back on the shelf later.

Hermione stood up, smiled and shook her head. "I like it." She hugged the book, _Women in History_ , to her chest.

"I didn't know teaching you about prominent women in history would make you obsess so. Who's your favourite this week?"

When Jean had first read the book to her, Hermione's favourite had been Marie Curie. Then it was Mildred Dresselhaus. Now, as it had been for the last month, was, "Agent Peggy Carter."

Jean smiled and turned back towards the kitchen. Two loud pops startled them both enough to shriek. A man and a woman had appeared in their sitting room between Hermione and her mum. "What—? Who are you? What are you doing in my flat?" Jean demanded.

" _Stupefy, Obliviate_ ," the man said waving a stick at her. She fell over, hitting her head on the doorframe on the way down.

"Mummy!" Hermione cried and darted between the strangers to get to her mother. She didn't know what to do but she knew hitting one's head was painful and could be dangerous.

"Grab her!" the man said. Arms wrapped around Hermione and scooped her up. She flailed in the woman's grasp in her attempt to get free.

"Stop wiggling, girl!" her abductor said. Hermione struggled harder and flung her head back into the woman's face. She dropped her, blood spurting from her nose, and Hermione darted away as soon as she touched the floor.

"Fuck!" one of them said.

Hermione didn't know what to do but she knew her mother couldn't help her just then so she ran towards the door. The neighbours would help.

She never made it to the door. The man grabbed her before she could twist the knob. She did the next best thing and screamed as loudly as she could even as she struggled again.

"Just stun her, Patrick!" The woman said wetly.

Hermione was dropped again, her knees banging on the hard floor. Before she could stand back up, a red light flashed in her eyes.

When she woke up, she wasn't in her mother's flat anymore. Instead, she was laying on a sofa in what looked like a small office. There were books along the wall behind a large desk. Someone was sitting next to her and someone else was shuffling through papers at the door.

"Can't believe Patrick and Laura left us with this one. Doesn't look like they filled out all the paperwork," the person shuffling papers said.

"Laura's nose got broken and you know how we've got to file everything with the infirmary." The man kneeling beside the sofa next to Hermione glanced at her and smiled. It was one of those fake smiles Hermione recognised from strangers who called her precocious. "How are you?" He looked back up to his accomplice. "Do know if they wiped her?"

The woman at the door shrugged, frowning down at the papers. "Ask her."

"Do you know your name, dear?"

Hermione was smart, but she wasn't omniscient. She had no idea what the man meant but she understood enough to not tell him her real name. She opened her eyes wide and shook her head like she didn't know anything.

The woman said, "Looks like it worked." She held out her hand for her. "Come on, it's time to go home."

The man snickered as he stood. "You know that pun is so bad."

"It's not like they understand," she replied.

Unsure of what to do, Hermione got up and followed. Getting out of the room was better than staying put and the woman might actually be telling the truth about going home. She took the woman's hand and followed along. The room beyond the office was very large and there was a giant gold machine all around them. In the centre of the room were large glass tubes with different coloured grains of sand. The woman adjusted knobs and valves, allowing a small mixture of different sands to gather in the centre bulb. She talked to herself as she worked. "All right, next on the register is 1927. That's five green grains, seven yellow. And, it's what? Midnight now? So let's go with five white."

"Make it six. Just in case she hasn't had any supper yet."

"Good thinking," the woman said. She looked down at Hermione and put on that overly sweet voice to ask, "Would you like that, sweetie? Are you hungry?"

Hermione kept her eyes wide and nodded and even stuck out her bottom lip in a pout to make her seem more believable. She _was_ hungry.

"Okay then." the woman said. She adjusted two more valves and pressed a large button that stayed down. The machinery around them started slowly moving. It reminded Hermione of a carnival ride as it started up. "Come here, sweetie. I need you to sit right here." The woman had opened a half-door near the sand tubes, inside was a bench. "It's just a ride. You'll have fun. I promise," she cajoled.

Hermione did not believe her at all but she didn't know what else to do, so she did as she was asked. She sat on the bench and let the woman secure the belt across her lap. The machine around them was starting to move a bit faster now.

"Well done. You stay right there and we'll get you off the ride when it's done," the woman said. She and her partner turned and retreated back to the office. Hermione had to turn her head over her shoulder but she watched the door shut behind them. The machine whirred and groaned and soon the little bench she was sitting on started to spin. As the spinning started to accelerate, she noticed there were two more parts, even larger than the one she had already seen, also spinning around her. Hermione was starting to feel a little sick in her tummy and she wondered if she should have mentioned to the woman that she tended to get sick on spinning rides. The spinning continued, faster and faster, and soon she had to close her eyes and lower her head. The motion of all the parts was making her unavoidably dizzy.

There was a loud crack that seemed to ring in Hermione's ears and she couldn't tell if she was still spinning or if the ride had slowed. Her stomach churned and she cracked her eyes open to find that everything was stationary. She sat still and breathed deeply to try to settle her twisting tummy. After a few minutes, something near her made a snapping sound. Her gaze darted to the control panel to see that the button the woman had depressed must have popped back out.

She heard the office door open and looked back to see two different people than the ones who put her on the ride. When they got closer she could see that one of them was a woman and her hair was styled in an odd way. It reminded her of the pictures in her _Women in History_ book. "Hello dear," she said.

She glanced at an open tube next to the bench that Hermione hadn't noticed before. "Oh, Lionel, they forgot the paperwork again," she spoke to her partner. To Hermione, she said, "Do you know your name?"

Again, Hermione understood enough not to give her own name so instead, she used two names from _Women in History._ "Mildred Carter."

"Carter?" Lionel repeated. He had a heavy book open and he seemed to be searching through it. "We don't have a Carter in the books, Muriel," he told his partner.

"We don't? Why would they have..." Muriel turned from where she was speaking with Lionel and crouched down to bring herself closer to Hermione's height. She looked directly into Hermione's eyes, her own seemed to twinkle. "Are you sure your name is Mildred Carter?" she asked in that syrupy sweet tone.

Hermione focused all her might on the name Mildred Carter, unsure of why it mattered. It must be very important. She wouldn't let any other thought interrupt her focus on that name.

Muriel nodded and stood. "She's positive. That's the name."

"What do we do?" Lionel asked, looking confused or concerned.

"I suppose we put her with Muggles. Send the Obliviation Team anytime there's a slip-up. Provide new memories when she's accepted into school." Muriel said.

Lionel scoffed. "If it was that easy, what's the point of this department?" The two adults shared a look before returning their attention to Hermione.

"Well come along, Mildred. We'll take you home."

* . * . *

Hermione had been very disappointed. She hadn't been taken home. Instead, she had been taken to a house in the country and integrated into the Carter family as the youngest daughter of three. Michael and Peggy accepted her as their sister without question, both encouraging her to seek out adventure and excitement on top of her voracious appetite for learning. Her new parents, Amanda and Harrison, treated her as if she had always been there. Had always been Millie Carter.

Over the next six years, strangers showed up seemingly at random. Every time they came and left, the things that seemed bizarre or mysterious that happened around her had been explained away. When Millie asked, her mother Amanda had chided her for making things up.

The summer after she turned eleven, a letter arrived in the post for her inviting her to a boarding school. The following day two strangers stopped by in the afternoon and did something to Millie's parents and siblings. She was told that the name and nature of her school—Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—was to be kept secret from everyone. Including her family. If she ever breathed a word of it to anyone who wasn't magical she would have her memory erased. The Muggle, the non-magical person, she spoke to would also suffer the same fate.

Hermione had only grown more intelligent and she understood the immensity of that threat. She knew with utter certainty that she would keep the secret of magic, just as she'd kept the secret of her real mother locked deep in her heart. No one, no Muggle, could ever know.

She was sorted Gryffindor, the house of the brave.

Each year of school was challenging as she learned about magic and how to fit into this new world. She learned the hardest lesson in her first year. There was no such thing as 'Muggle-borns.' Starting at the turn of the century, the sporadic development of magic in the children of Muggles no longer happened. It had taken a lesson in fourth year History of Magic class for understanding to snap into place. Hermione Granger had been a Muggle-born, or at least she thought she had been; she had no recollection of her father. Technically, she still was. In her official documents as a student at Hogwarts, Mildred Carter was an orphan. No one knew, or could know, that the family she returned to every summer was Muggle.

When Hermione returned home after her fourth year at Hogwarts, it was to the news that her brother Michael would be getting married. Edith joined the family less than three weeks later and then she and Michael holidayed in Scotland for their honeymoon. Hermione was happy for them even as she weaved the lies she had been told to tell as Edith asked about her schooling and her friends.

Two days after the start of her sixth year, in 1939, Headmaster Dippet made an announcement that Britain had gone to war with Germany. For a while, things at school did not change. Then, near the end of the school year, word came that wizards associated with Gellert Grindelwald were attempting to use the Muggles' war to overturn the Statue of Secrecy. The Ministry of Magic started recruiting heavily for Auror positions both nationally and internationally. Duelling clubs sprang up at Hogwarts. Whispers about rationing amongst Muggles followed by happy reassurances and smiles. The phrase _aren't-you-glad-you-aren't-a-Muggle_ abounded.

When Hermione returned home for the summer she learned that Michael had enlisted in the Royal Armed Forces and Peggy had qualified to work at Bletchley Park. Officially, Peggy only worked as a secretary. In the quiet hush of the early morning hours, she confessed to Hermione that she was a code-breaker and doing important work for the war effort. Edith had given birth to Michael's son in January and named him Harry.

With so much change happening at home, Hermione wasn't sure what she should be focusing on. As much as she loved the magical world and supported the Ministry's efforts to combat Grindelwald's army and exposure, her heart longed to follow in her adopted siblings' footsteps. What tipped the scales all happened that summer. Peggy got engaged to Fred Wells about the same time Michael got her recommended for fieldwork.

Then Michael died.

Just like that. He had returned to Europe and then he was gone, leaving his wife and six-month son alone. Leaving Peggy and Hermione alone.

Peggy broke off her engagement with Fred and took the fieldwork opportunity. Hermione was stuck going back to school despite her earnest desire to join the war effort with her sister. Peggy had encouraged her to finish school and Hermione had listened to her older sister. Hermione spent most of her time reading in the library, content to read and learn as many Muggle subjects as Magical to get herself ready to join the war effort properly when she left school.

She came across the subject of time travel once in her studying. At first, she dismissed it. But the descriptions of time-turners struck her as familiar in a way she couldn't move past. It took over two weeks of reading and focusing on her memories of her past but then the fog in her head seemed to clear. She understood. Muriel and Lionel, who had delivered her to the Carter family home thirteen years earlier, must have worked with time travel. That enormous golden machine with its precise grains of coloured sand must have been an advanced type of time turner. The book from which she studied had said time travel was strictly regulated to only return in hour increments for observational purposes. The author was obviously not privy to the truth.

Deep in her heart, Hermione knew that Jean had not worn clothes or styled her hair like Amanda did. Unfortunately, as a five-year-old, Hermione had never needed to know the date. She didn't know from when she came. She didn't know why she was sent back in time. She wanted to find out.

* . * . *

**8 July 1941**

"Millie?" Peggy called. Hermione turned around and smiled, happy to see her sister after the long train ride from school.

"Hey, Peggy."

"How was your trip? Did you do anything special for your last year?" Peggy gave Hermione a hug as they came together on the platform.

"Long, and no, and how's Mum and Dad? Edith? Harry?"

Peggy rolled her eyes and laughed, her brown curls bounced with the movement. She hooked her arm with Hermione's as they started back toward the entrance. The walk back to the townhouse the Carters lived in while in the city was almost a half hour's walk from the station. Hermione was grateful her travelling trunk was wheeled.

"Mum and Dad are the same. Mum's still unhappy I decided to cancel the wedding with Fred and follow Michael's suggestion with work. She thinks I'll either die working in the field or be ruined and never marry. I hate disappointing her but Michael was right. I... Fred wasn't what I wanted. I was settling because I thought that was the life I wanted. Now..."

"Now you are untethered and can pursue the adventure you've always dreamed of," Hermione said for her.

Peggy reached up and patted Hermione's own bushy brown curls, a shade lighter than hers. "You've dreamed of adventure too. Do you know what you want to do?"

"I want to be where you are. I want to do some good."

"I don't know if I can make that happen but I'll try. You'll have to cut your hair, you know. Regulation is not touching the shoulders."

"Is there any limit on how far out past my ears this way?" Hermione asked with a laugh, holding her hands up above her shoulders like she was going to put on ear muffs.

Peggy laughed. "I'm sure we can find some way to tame them."


	2. Chapter 2

**11 November 1943**

Hermione scrutinised herself in the mirror. Her dress was emerald green and the amount of skin it bared was on this side of scandalous. The neckline showed off the tops of her breasts, the skirt brushed the tops of her knees. She turned to make sure the seams of her stockings were straight and admire the way the fit of the dress showed the curve of her backside. Her make-up was on point, especially her lips; she'd borrowed Peggy's Red Velvet.

She was still nervous.

"Well?" She turned to her sister, who was also impeccably attired but in red. "Am I appropriately dressed to meet your future husband?"

Peggy didn't restrain the laugh that bubbled up. "Future husband? Are you talking about Captain Rogers?"

"You were the one to send secretly coded letters home to talk about this amazing man you met while you were in America and from what I've heard he's only become better. Liberating 400 men single-handedly from a base thirty miles behind enemy lines?"

Peggy gave her a look. "How did you hear about that? The Allied movements in Italy are top secret."

"I may not be in the SSR but I am in SOE. It's interesting the things you learn if you're just quiet and listen." Hermione slipped on her black heels and straightened her skirt. It did feel a tad short in the back.

"Is that what two years at SOE has taught you? How to be quiet and listen?"

"Among other things," Hermione ceded. "Speaking of, did you get the training lesson about what to expect if you're ever captured by the enemy?"

Peggy's shoulders tightened as the levity slipped from her face. "I did."

"And?"

"Fred and I," Peggy said, glancing down at her hands where she'd started wringing them in front of her. "Before I went into fieldwork, so the lesson was moot."

"Not really, I mean, for the initial part of it. You could still be—"

Peggy's gaze snapped up to Hermione's. "I won't be. When I'm in the field it's either with the whole of the 107th Infantry Battalion or with Captain Steve Rogers and the 107th Tactical Team. It's highly unlikely that it would come to that. And even if the whole of us were captured, do you think any of those men would let that happen to me without a fight? Much less what I would do." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before directing her inquisitive gaze back to Hermione. "Millie, why are you asking? Have you...?"

Hermione shrugged and let her lips curl into a smirk she was sure her sister knew was fake. "I was thinking, there'll be plenty of men at the pub tonight, right? I could—"

"Mildred Carter, you are not some cheap—"

"Peggy," Hermione interrupted, whining her sister's name, "I know, all right? Having a little safe fun before proper fieldwork doesn't lower my value. Just like I don't think you think you have any less value because of what you and Fred shared. I just want it to be my choice. I want to be... proactive, that's all." Peggy's pursed lips told Hermione everything she needed to know about her sister's thoughts on her decision to be proactive. "I promise I won't make a pass at the future Mr Carter," she quipped, hoping it would lighten the mood.

Peggy held her disapproving look for a few seconds longer before she broke and giggled. "I don't, he's not—"

Sarcasm and humour dripped from her words, "Sure, I believe you."

"We're just going to inform Captain Rogers that Howard needs to speak with him in the morning."

Hermione frowned. "You mean you got all dressed up and you don't even plan to stay for a dance?" She picked up their clutches and handed the red one to Peggy.

"He doesn't know how to dance."

Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled the door shut behind them. "Maybe you should teach him," she said as they walked down the stairs from their shared flat.

The walk to the pub was quiet and dark with only the light of the moon illuminating the streets. There were no lights coming from the building when they arrived, black-out curtains neatly pulled tight, but there was a muffled raucous that seemed to seep out between the bricks. Hermione opened the door for her sister and bounced her eyebrows playfully when Peggy's gaze met hers. When they walked in the noise didn't seem as harsh but the song that was being played on the piano in the corner stuttered and went discordant for a note or two when the pianist saw them. Hermione couldn't help but smile to herself. It felt like such a rare thing, to distract someone so much. She followed one step behind Peggy, past the tables overflowing with soldiers, food, and drinks. A table of men stopped singing to stare. Hermione hoped she wasn't blushing.

They walked past the table and Hermione could feel the stares as the many soldiers' gazes followed them. It was titillating but her stomach felt tight with nerves. This was what she had wanted, right? Her pick of almost any man here. Her choice.

Two soldiers had stood when they entered the back section of the pub. Two very handsome soldiers. The tall, muscular blond wearing captain insignia on his shoulders greeted Peggy by name as they approached. The other man was not quite as tall. His dark hair was tousled and his uniform was distinctly out of regulation. He was missing his tie and the buttons of his shirt were undone enough to see the skin of his neck and chest. Hermione's stomach swooped at just the sight of him.

"Millie, this is Captain Steve Rogers and Sergeant James Barnes. Gentlemen, this is my sister, Mildred Carter."

Both men greeted her but Barnes's gaze seemed to linger even as Peggy and Rogers continued the conversation.

"Howard has some equipment for you to try, tomorrow morning?"

"Sounds good," he answered. There was a short awkward pause as the two of them made eyes at each other. Millie took the moment to glance at Barnes; he was watching Rogers.

Peggy glanced back past Hermione toward the table of soldiers who had resumed singing. "I see your top squad is prepping for duty."

"You don't like music?" Barnes asked.

She never stopped looking at Rogers, even as she answered Barnes, "I do, actually. I might, even when this is all over, go dancing."

"Then what are we waiting for?" he asked. He glanced from her to Hermione and grinned. When Peggy didn't answer right away, his grin slipped. He looked back at his friend. Hermione watched her sister. Peggy was making moon eyes at Rogers and he was doing it right back at her. Hermione couldn't help the soft little snicker of amusement that escaped her. The sound brought Barnes's attention back to her. The delight seemed to have returned to his expression.

"The right partner," Peggy answered, a beat too late. "Oh-eight-hundred, Captain." She turned and paused, blinking once at Hermione like she'd forgotten she was there. "Were you planning on staying, Millie?"

Hermione licked her lips lightly, careful not to smudge her lipstick. "I was. I wanted to dance."

Peggy nodded and raised her hand to cup Hermione's cheek as she leaned in close. "Don't stay out too late." Her gaze was intense but Hermione matched it. As nervous as she'd been a few moments ago, she wasn't going to back out now. She was a Gryffindor; she could be brave and make this choice for herself.

"I won't," she promised and she turned to watch her sister leave.

"Mildred?" Barnes said, prompting Hermione to turn on her toe.

"Millie, please."

He nodded and gestured back towards the bar. "Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you."

He ordered for her and offered her his hand to help her onto the bar stool. He sat beside her, leaving Captain Rogers to sit on his other side. Rogers gave her a smile and said, "I didn't know Agent Carter had a sister. Is she the eldest?"

"She's the middle child. Our elder brother Michael died in '40."

"Sorry to hear that," Barnes said. She was surprised to hear actual sympathy in his tone.

The bartender set down a finger of whisky in front of her and she flashed the man a smile in thanks, quickly wrapping her fingers around the glass to give her something to do. "So, I told you how I know Peggy and she's told me briefly how she met Captain Rogers. How did the two of you meet?" she asked.

"Me and Steve? Hell, we've been best friends since we were kids. I used to have to drag him out of fights in back alleys all the time. Kid had a mouth that would get him into more trouble than he could handle."

She grinned and although she'd read the short, coded letters Peggy had sent her about SSR and Project Rebirth she still had a difficult time imagining the muscular, tall man on Barnes's left with the words sickly and scrawny. She glanced at the man and her gaze must have lingered on his arms and chest a moment too long because Barnes coughed to recentre her attention on him.

"He doesn't look it now but he used to be skinny and short. Maybe a hundred pound soaking wet and always angrier than a wet tomcat." He took a sip of his whisky but his gaze stayed on her.

She didn't let her eyes wander to Rogers. She took a drink of her own whisky but she had to close her eyes for a moment when she coughed. That was so much harsher than the firewhisky she and her dorm mates had shared after they took their last N.E.W.T.s. The burn made her eyes water, and she blinked a few times and breathed deep.

"You all right?" Barnes asked.

"Yes," Hermione answered, huffing out an embarrassed little chuckle. "Stronger than I was expecting."

Barnes grinned again. "Are you feeling up to dancing?"

"Yes, please." Hermione took another sip of her drink, handling it better the second time, and then set it down. Barnes offered his hand to her and she took it; he led her to the dance floor.

The pianist noticed their arrival and segued into something more upbeat. For almost an hour, they danced the jitterbug, barely stopping when the piano player switched places with someone or the song changed. Barnes was careful at first but the longer they danced, the more he did more flips and spins.

They returned to the bar breathless and smiling. Hermione was half laughing with excitement. After they drank a bit more of their whisky, she tugged him down to whisper in his ear. He pulled back once he got the gist of what she was saying and gave her a downright filthy smirk.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah," she answered, feeling butterflies doing their own dance in her stomach.

* . * . *

The air in Hermione's lungs left her in a rush as Barnes backed her up against the outside wall of the pub. The brick scratched her shoulders through the fabric of her dress but it only added to the exhilarating sensations running through her. Between the freeing effects of the whisky, the rush of the Jitterbug, and the feel of his warm hands on her skin, Hermione felt like she was flying.

He kissed her like she was the only girl in the world and she didn't know how to keep up. He pulled away to allow them both to pant but soon he started dragging kisses down her neck. She loved that an elated laugh slipped from his lips before he came back to kiss her mouth again.

His skin was hot through his clothes and his roaming hands touched her everywhere and the entire experience made her feel heady and intoxicated. He'd backed them into a shadow so the moonlight barely illuminated them but she didn't need to see him to feel the smile on his lips as he pressed against her.

He reached up under her skirt to feel her up. His hands cupped her bum and teased at her through her slip and her knickers. She didn't know how he managed it but he had her knickers sliding down her legs before she realized it. He helped her step out of them and they might have disappeared into his trousers pocket, she didn't know. He drew his hands up her legs like he enjoyed the feel of her stockings under his fingertips.

She moaned when his fingers first went between her thighs, encouraging him on as well as herself, though for the first time since the night began she didn't feel nervous so much as excited. This was her choice; _he_ was her choice.

He hoisted her up and helped her wrap her legs around his waist. She watched as he pulled a prophylactic package from his pocket and felt him put it on under her skirt. He shifted and was there. She gasped as sharp pain radiated from where he'd pressed himself inside of her. She let her head fall back against the brick as she tried to breathe through the shock. She hadn't expected it to hurt.

He froze, his body going stiff with tension as the smile left his face. She was sure the smile she'd worn before had fallen away as well but she couldn't focus on anything but trying to relax.

"You haven't done this before, have you?" he asked, his voice quiet in the darkness and the sudden stillness of the night.

"What gave it away?" She didn't look at him until after she'd asked the question.

He opened and closed his mouth once in a silent, 'ah,' before he said, "The look of pain on your face." He paused, still not moving where his body was lodged in hers. "We should stop."

"No, no," she argued. She had wanted this, had chosen him. Peggy had done this with Fred; it couldn't have been too terrible. She would have warned her if it was always this way. "It's—" she took another deep breath and realised the pain had mostly subsided, "It's not so bad now. Please, keep going, I didn't mean to ruin—"

He kissed her gently, to stop her words. "You haven't ruined anything, sweetheart. You deserve a bed for this, that's all."

The endearment made her chest feel tingly in appreciation and she pressed a kiss to his jaw, feeling the sandpaper-scratch of his stubble against her lips. She briefly wondered if she would leave lipstick on his skin. "Well, I've got this brick wall and you, Sergeant Barnes, make it memorable."

He gave her a devastating smoulder and shifted, letting his hips rock into her and back, his hands moving to cup her arse more securely. A thrill of pleasure, new and bold, lit up her body with his movement. "Bucky," he said. "My name is Bucky."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna know a secret? This story was inspired by the bar scene. When Steve says, "Maybe she's got a friend" my brain said, "or maybe she's got a sister." And as I am wont to do, I came up with a way to shove Hermione into that spot.


	3. Chapter 3

**12 November 1943**

The following morning, Hermione was on her way to Norway.

During her schooling, Hogwarts had encouraged a letter exchange to her sister schools Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Hermione had learned some of both of her chosen friends' languages over the course of their friendships. She'd left school with a rudimentary knowledge of Norwegian and was passably fluent in French. She had been able to use both for translating at Bletchley.

For her training with SOE, she'd had a few practice runs of jumping out of aeroplanes. It was nothing like jumping out of an aeroplane into Norway for an actual mission, however.

The night mission was well lit by the mostly full moon. Three other women were in the aeroplane prepping to jump but none of them would be working with Hermione. She was also the first one to jump. She rechecked her parachute harness and her bag of supplies. Discretely she made sure her wand was tucked away safely in her coat in a pocket she'd cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on. The coordinator opened the door on the side of the plane and turned to give her a thumbs up. She pulled her goggles down over her eyes and wiggled her helm to make sure it was belted on tight.

The inside of the aeroplane hadn't been particularly warm but it was nothing like the blast of cold air that enveloped her when she stood at the door looking out. The landscape looked like a miniature sculpture in relief and the long shadows cast by the moon distorted the shape of the ground. Instead of open fields like the moors she'd practised on, there were dense forests. The coordinator patted her on the shoulder twice. Hermione gave him a nod and then sucked in a deep breath. She jumped.

Even the cool air that had swallowed her up moments ago at the door hadn't prepared her for the frigid wind speeding past her. She counted, a slow and steady march in her head, and pulled the cord of her parachute. It deployed and the jerk back knocked her breath from her. There was no manoeuvring she could do, really, and the moonlight didn't help discern what was below her. She could tell the ground was coming up to meet her feet, could feel the change in the air pressure and the wind against her face.

She had not missed the trees.

As soon as she realized she was headed directly into a copse of trees, Hermione crossed her ankles. She closed her eyes, tucked her chin down, and crossed her arms up around her neck. Leaves and small branches scratched at her, tugging at her clothes and the straps holding her to her parachute. The jolt as her chute finally caught and stuck caused her to swing.

The blistering cold was still pressing in at her through her clothes, though things felt much warmer now that she wasn't falling through the sky. She did a full body check, nothing seemed broken or hurt. She did feel a bit beat up, though, and her face felt like she'd been attacked by an agitated kneazle.

Thankfully, the tree canopy wasn't too dark. Dappled moonlight illuminated enough for her to see she was about fifteen feet from the ground. She swung her arms and legs about, checking to see if she could grab the tree and made contact. Her toes could just touch a branch below her and if she twisted she could wrap her hands around the tree trunk. She unclipped her parachute harness and climbed down.

After double checking that she had everything she started off with minus the chute, Hermione headed for the edge of the wooded area. She looked out from the treeline at the landscape that had looked so alien from above. Now, at least, it looked like recognisable things. Trees, hills, mountains in the distance.

She pulled out her map and dug out her torch. For two terrifying minutes, she couldn't orientate herself with her map. Then she took a deep breath to steady herself, followed the path the aeroplane would have flown, and figured out where she'd landed. From there she knew which direction she needed to go.

It took her a day's walk to get to her target, the hydro-electro powerplant in Vemork. She found a pleasant Norwegian woman who thought she looked cold and offered her a warm bed and hot meal when she got there. That's when she first noticed how horrible her Norwegian was. The little bit she did say, she was sure she was mispronouncing but the kind woman just smiled and nodded and offered her a second helping of food.

At oh-three-hundred, Hermione snuck out of the woman's house. She almost turned back immediately because she'd already forgotten the cold. The generous woman's home was toasty warm. Instead, Hermione steeled her nerves, reminded herself that this was her first fieldwork mission and that she couldn't screw it up, and followed her map to the powerplant she was supposed to be infiltrating. When she got there, she found a side entrance and attempted to jimmy the lock with the lockpicking equipment she'd been given. Her fingers felt frozen despite her gloves and she almost fled when she heard two men nearby. From the slight hint of smoke that wafted her way she figured they were taking a fag break.

After they returned inside, Hermione gave up with the lockpick and cast the Unlocking Charm. Once inside she tiptoed around trying to find offices that might have information she could collect. She knew the men working were probably Norwegian but she didn't know if they would turn her into the German-occupied government if they found her. Between worrying about getting caught by them or by International Aurors for using magic, she didn't retain anything she'd read by the time she needed to leave.

She went back the next night, more prepared and with steadier hands. The lock gave properly, she found the offices first thing, and she was able to collect several stacks of paper that seemed to detail what the Nazi plans were for the plant.

The recognisable droning of incoming aeroplanes startled her. She hid under a desk and hoped the air raid wasn't headed there. The whole building shook as the bombs fell. Posters attached to the wall fell, decorations sitting on the desk above her rolled off. An alarm went off. She could hear men shouting. The droning hadn't completely faded but knowing she might be discovered had her crawling out from under the desk. She needed to get out of the building before she was caught.

In the woods a good distance away from the powerplant she could see smoke clouds in the cold air a little further away. She wondered who had dropped the bombs and if they'd hit their target. She had a feeling they'd missed. She slunk back to the cottage. Instead of letting her climb in through the window, the woman met her at the door and ushered her inside. She didn't ask where she'd been. The woman sent her to bed and insisted on feeding her breakfast in the morning before Hermione set out to meet her contact in Kristiansand.

She was extremely fortunate to find two more kind strangers to board her for the nights of her three day's walk south. They all seemed to understand that she was a foreigner but they treated her well and didn't seem keen on turning her in. She was grateful and wished there was a way to thank them properly. If she weren't so wary about the International Aurors finding an English girl in the middle of a Muggle conflict in Norway she would have gifted them something with magic. Seeing as participating in the Muggles' war was illegal, she opted to thank them profusely with her badly spoken, butchered Norwegian and to leave as early as she could so as to not inconvenience them.

Hermione's contact in Kristiansand was named Vegard. He was a short, stocky man with dark eyes. He greeted her with a lascivious smile and laced more innuendo than coded language into their dinner conversation. She didn't appreciate his attempts at flirting. For one, she was having a difficult enough time with understanding the language as it was, adding puns and dirty jokes that she only barely understood weren't helping in the slightest. For another, she didn't find him attractive at all. Thoughts of Bucky had drifted across her mind during her days walking through the Norwegian countryside and she wondered when or if she would see him again. Vegard couldn't even compare to the attractive American.

Unfortunately, Vegard was also her host for the night before she could catch a boat attempting the dangerous trek back to England. As they were leaving the pub where they'd had dinner, Vegard offered her a fag. She accepted, letting him light it for her. She only got one good puff on it before he crowded her against the brick of the building and kissed her. Between the unfiltered taste of the cigarette and the meal he'd just had, Hermione was thoroughly disgusted. She shoved at him to get him to step back.

Instead of the crude smug look she was expecting, though, he looked nervous and jumpy. He looked over his shoulder and then rushed her back through the door of the pub. He manhandled her past the other customers, pushing her behind the bar and back into the kitchen just as the bell over the door rang. He looked scared. The noise in the pub behind him escalated. His gaze shifted around before landing on something behind her. From the front room of the pub, Hermione heard something she knew didn't belong in a German-occupied Norwegian city: a Greek-based spell. She smelled the telltale scent of sulfur and ozone from an offensive spell before she heard chairs screech against the floor and screaming.

Vegard pushed her again despite Hermione trying to get past him; she wanted to see what was going on. Finally, he just picked her up and carried her to where he wanted her. He set her down, stepped back, and shut a door in her face. The interior of wherever she was was pitch black and when she reached out the wall was cold. Was she in a walk-in refrigerator? She heard a man shout and flinched back where she stood when something thudded on the fridge door.

"You're supposed to leave some alive, Karl," she heard in Norwegian. "Exposure doesn't mean kill them all."

"He looked at me funny. For the Greater Good!"

They continued to speak but she didn't understand anything else said. She shivered and it had nothing to do with the chilled room she was in. She'd heard enough.

Exposure. For the Greater Good.

That was Grindelwald's slogan. She didn't know what to do. Did she stay hidden? Did she try to attack them? If she did, should she use the Muggle pistol tucked into her boot that she'd been provided, the knife at her thigh, or the wand in her pocket? There were at least two, maybe more. She might have done well in the duelling club at school but she doubted she was capable of taking down multiple active opponents aiming to kill her.

There was laughter and retreating footsteps and Hermione sat down to wait. She'd wait for ten minutes and then try to sneak out. She listened while she waited, unsure if they knew she was there, and contemplated her plans. Should she try to find a place to bed down for the night and head for the docks tomorrow as planned? Should she seek out a ship tonight now that her host was, in all likelihood, dead?

Should she report the Grindelwald supporters to her commanding officer at SOE? Should she call them Nazis instead? Calling them Nazis and mentioning they were in Norway wouldn't mean anything; the Nazis were occupying Norway. Reporting magic users meant exposure and she couldn't do that. She could try to contact the International Aurors who were supposed to be handling this sort of thing but she wasn't sure what she should say if she were asked what she was doing there. Ultimately, she concluded that her hands were tied.

Hermione fished her torch out of her coat pocket and clicked it on. She was sitting on a crate of cheese. She looked at her watch. She clicked off her torch and waited.

She waited twelve minutes. Twelve very quiet minutes.

She hadn't heard the bell over the door to indicate they'd left but she couldn't stay in the fridge all night. She stood and pressed against the door. It didn't move. She poked at the locking mechanism with chill-numbed fingers. Was she locked in? She pulled her wand from her pocket and flicked it at the lock. _"Alohomora."_ The latch was loud as it unlocked and she flinched, hoping that no one heard it. She pushed against the door again, using all of her body weight to get it to budge. Once she was out she realised why she'd had trouble; Vegard's body had been acting as a doorstop.

She gagged when she got a look at him. The spell they'd used might have been quick but it wasn't painless. There was fear frozen on his face. Blood was smeared against the door where he'd slid down and it had puddled under him; Hermione's soles were tacky with it where she'd stepped in it. She would leave tracks if she went much further without doing something about it. The macabre scene in the kitchen was continued in the front room of the pub. Her eyes watered at the acrid smell of ammonia, faeces, and blood. At the door, she cleaned her shoes with a spell and frowned back at the poor Muggles they'd killed. There wasn't anything she could really do to give them their lives or their dignity back.

She peaked through the curtained windows to check for soldiers or Grindelwald supporters. The streets were empty; night had fallen. She needed to find someplace warm for the night. She crept out and started for the docks, hoping she'd find what she needed. As she crept along the alleys towards the sound of the sea, what she needed found her. Another Norwegian resistance member with a warm fire blazing in their hearth opened their door to her and offered her shelter. She hoped her future missions went better than this one had.


	4. Chapter 4

**25 December 1943**

Bucky was lost in his own head as he took his time cleaning his rifle. When they'd moved through occupied France to wipe the HYDRA base near Metz off the map, Bucky might not have been as truthful with Steve as he should have.

He should have mentioned how he was looking for another lab like the one he'd been kept in and experimented on in Kreischberg. He'd just hoped to find some of Zola's notes. Anything to explain what had been done to him while he'd been strapped to that table. He knew he shouldn't have slipped off from his post as he had. He knew just how bad it could have ended, had Gabe not seen him leave. Now, Gabe had the death of a terrified French woman on his shoulders. It wasn't like any of their hands were clean of blood but had Bucky been where he was supposed to be, he might have noticed details that Gabe had not. Details like the woman's ripped clothes, or the blood on her skin.

Now Gabe was sitting off away from the group, drinking a bottle of whatever Dum Dum had lifted from the last village they'd come across. Steve and Jim had tried talking to him but Bucky hadn't. Bucky knew he didn't have a good enough excuse to give him to wash those stains away. It didn't take nearly as long as he'd hoped to clean his rifle and now he sat watching the woods for Nazis on the opposite side of their makeshift camp from Gabe.

Bucky heard a noise, a low rumbling that at first, he attributed to ringing ears and then thunder. By the time he recognised the sound as a motorcycle, Gabe had let out a whistle that they had unknown company and he could hear the others fading into the woods to wait out the interloper. Bucky slunk back through the trees towards camp.

He watched through his scope as a small figure stepped off an Indian 340 B with a sidecar. The figure was dressed like a man, trousers, men's shirt and jacket but was obviously a woman. She pulled a knife from her boot and sawed at a branch with dead leaves on it. When the branch pulled free she used it to cover the bike. She returned the knife to her boot then turned and glanced around at the evidence of their camp. Three pup tents and a few logs pulled nearby to sit on. A banked fire.

She glanced around and then started whistling something. It was quiet but clear to Bucky's ears. She was whistling "My Country, 'Tis of Thee." When she got through the first stanza she pulled the cap off her head and shook out her hair. Brown curls. Bucky focused again, aiming directly at her head, hoping to get a clearer look at her face before he shot her. Except, when she turned around, he recognised her. He inhaled and relaxed his hand.

Millie Carter. What the hell was she doing here?

He lowered the rifle and whistled too, picking up with her over the end of the second repeat. She quieted, turned and looked in his direction but didn't seem to see him. Dum Dum and Steve stood and approached her first, and Steve darted a glance in Bucky's direction.

Bucky wasn't sure he should have been able to hear them speak but the wind was in his favour.

"Carter?"

"Rogers. I was, well, not so much in the area, but on my way home and a little birdy told me your general location."

"Whistling that song's bound to get you shot, girly," Dum Dum said. Bucky could imagine the scrutinizing glare Dum Dum was sending her. Hearing that their position was given away wasn't the best way to introduce oneself.

"What? "God Save the King?" It was also used as a royal anthem for the German Empire. I knew someone was here, I just wanted confirmation."

Bucky slipped from his hiding spot as they talked and was close enough to retort, "Your confirmation almost came as a bullet to the head. What are you doing here? Why aren't you in England?"

"You know this dame?" Dum Dum asked, glancing back at him.

"It's Agent Carter's little sister, Millie," Bucky said. He glanced around and saw Dernier head off in the direction he'd been, taking over watch without having to be asked.

"That's _Agent_ Millie Carter, thanks."

"Why's your bike smell like a Christmas turkey?" Jim asked as he joined them.

She shrugged and glanced around at them before letting her gaze land on Bucky. "Happy Christmas."

"You brought us a turkey?" Dum Dum asked suspiciously.

She gestured with a jut of her chin in the direction of the bike and Jim shifted the branch to get at the sidecar. "Looks like she's got your number, Dum Dum," he called as he pulled out a bottle of whisky. Then he pulled covered dishes out like she'd taken them right off someone's table. "Who'd you steal these from, Agent Carter?"

"Same little birdy who told me where you'd be," she answered with a grin.

"And where's this little birdy now?" Steve asked warily.

"About fifteen kilometres down this road in a shallow grave."

Bucky's eyes narrowed, not believing her blasé response at all. From Steve's posture, he didn't either. Dum Dum and the others seemed to decide that anyone who brought them food was trustworthy because they were already starting to split it up. "It's still hot, fellas. You joining us, Carter?" Dum Dum asked as he was given a plate and sat down.

"Sure," she said, smiling. "If you don't mind." Bucky rolled his eyes. His mama would have his head if he didn't make sure she ate, especially as she was the one to provide the food.

So Millie joined them for Christmas dinner. Steve took Gabe a plate and Monty took one to Dernier. Dum Dum and Jim had settled in with the new bottle of whisky. When they had all finished, Steve hemmed before asking about what to do with the plates and dishes.

"Just drop them in the sidecar. I plan on losing the bike next town I come to. Speaking of, I've got to get back."

"You're planning on travelling in hostile territory at night?" Steve asked and the look the men all shared spoke of the same thing. It would be bad enough as a lone man out after dark but a woman?

"I'll be fine," she gave them all a little grin, meeting their eyes like she knew what they were thinking until her gaze landed on Bucky again. "I wouldn't say no to a little escort on my way out, though."

Bucky nodded. He stood and offered his hand to collect their plates. He took them to the bike and set them in. There wasn't any need to break them, someone else might find them and put them to use if she was just going to ditch the motorcycle somewhere. He was on his way back to collect her but Steve had already helped her to stand. Steve leaned in and whispered something in her ear but she just smiled, not even a cat-the-got-the-cream smile, just a friendly, sweet smile, and nodded. She met Bucky and they headed back to the bike. He tugged the handlebar and manoeuvred himself to push the bike back onto the road they were camped beside. She walked along with him.

They were quiet as they walked until they were far enough away to be out of sight and earshot. "I don't believe you," he said softly.

"About what?"

"Someone knowing where we were or about killing them for dinner," he answered. Moonlight fell in patches through the canopy of bare tree limbs above them causing an endless array of light and shadow to filter over her face. He couldn't see her expression but he could hear her breath escaping her lungs and her heart beating in her chest.

"I never said I killed him." She waited a moment before adding, "But you're right. I didn't kill anyone or steal their dinner. I do have ways of finding you that I can't divulge to you. I'm sure you understand."

"So what are you? Not SSR, right? We've all got clearance for that and your sister would have included your title when we were introduced."

She slowed to a stop in a patch of unbroken moonlight. She shrugged and gave an uninformative huff through her nose. A little white cloud of mist filled the space between them before it faded away. "Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare?" She offered, giving him a cheeky little smirk. She pointed to the side of the road at a thick clump of trees and underbrush. "Maybe stow the motorbike there?" she asked.

"You're not going to ride it out like you said?"

She tipped her head to the side, falling back into a shadow. The move didn't hide the way her skin started to pinken. She bit her lip in a way that might have come across as coquettish on another girl but on her, it just came across as shy and maybe a little naive. He stared at her lips and without intention, licked his own. Her own gaze shifted to watch his mouth. Her blush darkened.

She glanced away first like she needed a minute to gather her nerve. While she collected herself, he did as she'd asked and pushed the bike off the road behind the clump of brush. He reckoned it might be a decent hiding spot if headlights from oncoming vehicles didn't make it shine. She followed behind him on quiet feet. She leaned towards him and whispered, "It's not a bed but..."

He laughed. He probably shouldn't have. "It's colder than a witch's tit and you want to... what? Fuck _on_ the motorcycle?" She looked down, fidgeting. He'd obviously fucked that right up because her shoulders had curled forward and she seemed to be opening her mouth to take it back.

He kissed her. Hard. Flinging himself at her and burrowing his cold hands into her short and bushy head of curls. She responded quickly, pressing up against him like she could burrow under his clothes, under his skin if he let her. He liked the idea of her there, staying under his skin with him so when he burned and froze and screamed in his nightmares of Zola she'd be there to banish the shivers later.

Bucky straddled the bike backwards, leaning back against the handlebar to give himself some stability. It wasn't the most comfortable or secure of positions but it would do. He could brace the ground with his right foot, but with the sidecar, he didn't have anywhere to put his left. He propped his left foot on the casing, wondering if he'd be able to use it as leverage. She pulled a rubber from a pocket and he wasted no time unbuttoning his fly. He put it on as she unbuttoned her trousers and stepped out of them. Her ass was going to be so damn cold but she didn't say anything, just grabbed his hand to steady herself as she climbed up over his lap.

She leaned forward and kissed him, letting their tongues tangle and caress. Bucky wished she'd been brave enough to suggest this when they were at camp and he could have had her in his tent. He'd kick Monty out without a second thought. She started to bring her body down on his and he broke away from her. "Wait, Millie, are you ready?" he asked. He reached between her thighs and touched her gently, knowing his hands were ice cold. She started from the touch and whimpered. The bike shook under them. He was glad for the stability the sidecar provided, it was less likely for them to tip the entire thing over than if it'd been without.

Her body wasn't completely ready for him and he helped her along as best he could with one hand between her legs and the other steadying her thigh.

"Please, please, Bucky," she whispered and he groaned and leaned up to kiss her again. He tried to give her a few more minutes but she was determined to have him when she wanted. He collected some spit in his hand and brought it to his cock as makeshift lube. He went to do it again to open her up better but she pushed his hand away and pressed down on him. He grabbed his cock and held it straight for her because it had softened a little in the cold. It wouldn't take long for it to come back, though, especially at the heat of her pressing against him. She gasped when she got the angle right and slid down his shaft halfway in one quick movement. "Oh, _oh_ ," she said like it was her first time again. Bucky hoped he wasn't hurting her.

He let her move at her own pace, trying to be as patient and still as possible so she could control things. It was increasingly difficult to do. Her cunt was blistering hot around him and he desperately wanted to press up into it and lose himself. Finally, when she'd taken him in and started to rise back up he helped her, hands on her hips and making use of that leverage he'd found he'd had. Her eyes were wide and stunned like she hadn't expected something but he couldn't figure out quite what. He tried to muffle his groans by pressing his face against her clothed breasts.

He was almost as surprised as she was when she stopped moving over him and moaned loudly and wantonly, her head thrown back and eyes closed like she'd just found heaven. He'd not exactly expected her to find release like this. He'd only ever got a girl there once—with his tongue and his fingers—but the feel and sight of her above him was beautiful. He wanted to join her, wanted to lay her down somewhere warm and do it all again but even as he found his own peak he knew it was a hopeless, if romantic, thought. They were at war, they were in hostile territory, they shouldn't have let their guard down this much.

As they caught their breath, he let his mind go back to doing what he was supposed to be doing. Listening for enemies, looking out for his squad, keeping them—and her—safe. He gave her another minute and strained to listen to their surroundings. Everything sounded like it had before, quiet winter woods. "Come on, Millie. Gotta get up, doll," he said softly. She looked up at him and smiled. Leaned up and kissed him again. He helped her get up and he discarded the condom in the dirt. He stood, set himself to rights even as she did the same. "Ready for me to get the bike back on the road for you?"

She nodded and glanced away from him. Jesus-fucking-Christ did he fuck up again? But no, she was fine when she turned back around though her eyes were a little puffy. Just to be on the safe side, he asked, "Hey, Millie, you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," she said, shaking her head to emphasise her answer. "I didn't notice the cold until now, I guess. And I—"

He tipped his head down and raised his eyebrows, hoping the inquisitive look was enough to encourage her to open up. He didn't want to let her go off alone on a bad note between them.

"Sorry," she apologised. She rubbed the side of her neck and glanced around, answering, "It's lonely out here, you know? Didn't want to leave just yet. I know I have to, though." She looked back at him and attempted a grin.

He pulled her close, reaching one hand up to hold her neck and letting the other wrap around her waist. He hugged her tight. He might have held too long for the sort of casual thing they'd been having but he had no intention of sending her out into the cold night, lonely and in tears. "We'll be okay, Millie. I promise. Just get yourself somewhere safe. Warm, if you can. Our paths will cross again, you'll see. We'll find our way to a bed eventually." He kissed the top of her head and squeezed once before letting her go.

Only once her bike was back on the road and she had started it and rode off did he let himself think about what this thing between them was. He'd never fucked a girl on the same night as meeting her, even the few times his platoon had come across women who were offering. Then he'd met her. Little Millie Carter. He wondered if she'd be pissed if he called her his best girl.


	5. Chapter 5

**31 December 1943**

Hermione was due in on the outskirts of Paris to meet with someone named Jacques by the new year. She was given the name of a club and what part of the city where she was supposed to meet him. When she found the seedy little jazz club she paused outside the door to make sure she looked the part. Plain wool clothes, second-hand coat, and a small suitcase with artificially worn corners. Hoping everything would go better during this mission, she headed inside. There was a beautiful dark-skinned woman in an out-of-fashion red dress singing with piano accompaniment. Hermione set her suitcase on the floor near her feet and ordered the drink she was told to order to alert Jacques to her presence. When she received a nod and a drink from the bartender, she sat back to enjoy the entertainment.

The singer's voice was soulful and warbled as she waxed on about a lover called away to war. Hermione closed her eyes and let her mind wander to Christmas. She probably shouldn't have stopped at the home of her Beauxbatons friend's home for Christmas, knew she shouldn't have duplicated the meal and kept it warm for the 107th Tactical Team, but she couldn't help it. She'd missed Bucky and had wanted to see him again.

She had originally planned to ask a soldier for his help in her decision to be proactive, specifically so she would never see him again. That plan had lasted all of a minute once she'd met Sergeant Bucky Barnes. For one, his best friend was her sister's sweetheart, or intended sweetheart, or whatever it was they were dancing around and for another, she had become infatuated. She'd had a few crushes during school but this seemed beyond a simple crush. He was always in her thoughts even when he ought not to be.

There was just something about the mischief in his smile and the kindness in his eyes. She felt alive and happily anticipatory around him. And the way he kissed...

"Pardon, Mademoiselle?" the waiter said, drawing Hermione's attention out of her own head back into the club. The singer wasn't on stage any longer but the pianist was still there, playing a classical piece that Hermione couldn't name. She turned back to the waiter. "Jacques will see you now," he said in French. Leaving her suitcase on the floor near her chair, she followed him.

She was led backstage to something one might call a dressing room if they were being gracious. It was smaller than the average broom cupboard at Hogwarts and smelled of cleaning chemicals. A vanity, missing its glass, and chair were crammed into the space and there was a short, three-legged stool in the corner. The chair was occupied. Hermione caught a glimpse of the lounge singer's warm brown eyes watching her from a silver, handheld mirror in front of her. Hermione sat on the stool, the waiter closed the door behind them, and the singer turned around.

"Jacques?" she confirmed.

"Oui, est tu Carter?" Hermione was surprised. She'd expected a man from the name. From there, the conversation went smoothly. Hermione was supposed to spend three weeks getting to know a man called Antoine Molyneux. He was a member of the French Resistance but was suspected of communicating with the Vichy state. Hermione was expected to steal whatever documentation from his home that she could find. The pianist, Bernard Fortescue, would introduce her as his sister Hélène tomorrow morning. She was dismissed back to the club where she would stay until closing while she waited for him.

Hermione made sure to nurse the drinks she ordered from the bar as she waited. It wouldn't do to wind up sloshed. Bernard played the rest of the evening and Hermione found she recognized some of the pieces he performed. The room slowly emptied as the hours grew later. Finishing with a flourish, Bernard let the last chord ring. He stood, looking up and around the room. She rose from her chair and donned her coat before picking up her suitcase and approaching him. "Bernard," she greeted. "It feels like I haven't heard you play in ages," she said in French.

He smiled at her and embraced her with a brotherly hug. He took her suitcase from her hand. "I'm so glad you got here safely," he said. "You didn't have to wait for me, though."

"I didn't mind waiting. I enjoyed listening." He grabbed his coat from behind the bar and led her out of the club into the frozen night air.

* . * . *

"So," Bernard said in heavily accented English once he'd let them into his tiny flat a fifteen-minute walk from the club, "did Jacques let you know your mark?"

"A man named Antoine Molyneux," she answered in French.

He shook his head and responded in English. "Speak English, Hélène, you never know who might be listening." He gestured toward the walls. He turned around and dropped heavily onto the ratty sofa that overwhelmed the little room. "I've been telling Antoine all about my sister who's been away at school. He's very interested in meeting you."

She nodded and sat lightly on the other end of the sofa. When she spoke next she tried to affect a French accent on her English. "All good things, I hope." Softer, she asked, "Am I expected to..." she raised her eyebrows and darted a glance to Bernard's lap.

"Oh, no. Antoine wouldn't besmirch our friendship by expecting anything like that from a woman he's just met, even if he does know so much about you. Non, just get to know him. Accompany him to dinner and the theatre. Let him court you, and in three weeks when you return to school in Switzerland, well, the two of you can keep in touch if you find the relationship compatible and worth pursuing."

She yawned, covering her mouth. She glanced around. She saw cot in the corner but no other bedding. "Will I be staying here...?"

"Oui," he said, nodding and gesturing to the cot. "It's not much of a bed but you'll sleep there. I'll sleep here on the sofa." He stood and grabbed a blanket from underneath the cot and returned to the couch. Hermione stood and brushed her hands down her skirt. "I'd normally hang it," he gestured with the blanket in his hands, "for privacy but it's so cold this winter."

"It's all right," she said. It was an uncomfortable thought, undressing for bed with this relative stranger in the same room but she would deal. She set her suitcase on the bed and opened it, gathering a long flannel nightgown and other bedtime necessities. She turned her back to him and changed quickly. She heard his clothing rustle as he readied himself for bed as well. He turned out the light and wished her a good night.

* . * . *

**20 January 1944**

Hermione only had a little trouble settling into the role of Hélène Fortescue. Sometimes she forgot the French word for something and she would quickly have to rearrange the words in her head as she spoke so that she could say what she wanted in a different way. Antoine seemed almost fond of her forgetfulness when he caught her doing it.

Antoine was a tall, broad-shouldered man with thick dark hair and green eyes. Cigarette smoke clung to his bristly moustache when he'd lean in close and kiss her cheek. He was amiable and generous, gifting her a gold bracelet upon meeting her and insisting that even if they decided to only be friends that she must keep it. It had a charm engraved with the letter H. The first night they met, he asked her to return to the club Bernard played at. After that, it seems he had an unlimited number of places to go and events to attend.

It wasn't until halfway through the first week that she caught Bernard with a wand in his hand making breakfast. He looked nervous to be caught out and even started to aim his wand at her like he was going to cast a Memory Charm to erase the exposure from her mind. She blocked his spell with a shield that shimmered on contact. A light had appeared in his eyes when he realised she was a witch. "Where did you learn that?" he'd asked, offering her a cup of hot but weak tea. She had soaked a wedge of lemon in the cup to give it more flavour as she answered.

"I went to Hogwarts."

He'd sat down on the sofa next to her, closer than they'd previously sat, and they spent the next two hours discussing spell theory in hushed whispers and comparing Hogwarts with Beauxbatons.

After the revelation of magic in the Fortescue flat, Hermione felt more comfortable with her mission. She started responding with more banter and just a smidge more flirtation with Antoine and she let herself smile and laugh at his ridiculous jokes. Despite being suspected of ties to the Vichy state, he seemed like a good man. She almost hated that she was lying to him. Almost.

The end of the third week was approaching quickly and she'd still not been invited into Antoine's home. She wasn't sure if this was the courting that Bernard had mentioned but going out every night wasn't getting her any closer to her mission objective. She wasn't sure if he was flaunting her as the new girl on his arm or his apparent wealth. Either way, she needed to get into his home to look around.

"Bernard," Hermione asked her host the afternoon before she enacted her plan, "Do you think it's unethical to use magic on Muggles?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, passing her a bowl of strongly spiced but thin soup.

"I need to get into Antoine's home and I was thinking of using magic to do it."

He nodded and focused his hazel eyes on her. His thin, straw-coloured moustache flattened as he pursed his lips to listen. After Hermione sketched out her plan for the evening, he nodded, brushing his long fingers back and forth over his upper lip. "I think it will work," he said.

So that night, Hermione asked Antoine if they could slip out of the pub early and enjoy some time at his house to speak on more private matters. He smiled and agreed, though his gaze took on a more leering quality. He escorted her out into the street and they walked arm in arm for twenty minutes before coming to his house. It was large and impressive from the street. Inside, he proceeded to show off the public rooms of his home. Everything about them screamed money but Hermione's gaze lingered on the worn edge of the fabric chairs in the dining room, on the faded damask of the wallpaper. She wondered how much he'd been affected by the war and if his boastful show was just that—a show. He offered her brandy once they'd moved passed a pitiful library to a parlour.

He didn't make any overt passes on her person but she could tell from the way he led the conversation where he expected the night to go. After half an hour of small talk and surreptitiously casting Refilling Charms on his glass of brandy, she asked for the powder room. She left the room for only a moment before doubling back and casting a Stunning Spell. His body flopped bonelessly back into his chair. She vanished the brandy from her glass and the decanter so hopefully, when he awoke he would come to the conclusion that he'd drunk so much the night before that he'd passed out.

With the reassurance that he wouldn't be waking up or interrupting, Hermione spent the next hour scouring everything she could find. She searched through all of his meagre books for secret compartments cut out of them. Checked every drawer in the desk. She finally ventured upstairs to check the bedrooms. The furniture from all but one bedroom was gone like he'd sold it. On a small desk in the one sparsely furnished bedroom she found a telegraph machine and precisely transcribed documents. Unfortunately, both her Muggle code-breaking skills and the spells she'd developed to supplement those skills fell short. She had no idea what was on those documents. She used her wand to make duplicates of everything and tucked them into a hidden pocket of her coat. With her mission complete, she left. Out of some odd fondness for Antoine, she made sure to lock his door behind her.

"Did everything go as you planned?" Bernard asked when she returned to his flat.

She nodded. "Yes, everything went to plan. I'm supposed to speak with Jacques tomorrow before I leave, will you be accompanying me?"

He shook his head, "Non, Hélène. I have other things I need to do. The less I'm seen around Jacques the better." They shared goodnights one last time.

The following morning's goodbye wasn't tearful but Hermione did feel like she was parting from a good friend. She made her way to the club, carrying her suitcase again, a second copy of the documents she'd stolen tucked inside a hidden pocket there. The pub was empty aside from Jacques who was sitting at a table with an open bottle of wine.

When Hermione approached, she smiled and stood, gesturing for her to follow to the tiny dressing room. Hermione wondered if the space had been soundproofed. "So, did you find anything?" Jacques asked in French.

Hermione answered in kind, "I did. I couldn't decipher it. I have them here." She held up her case and the other woman nodded. She opened it and pulled out the duplicates. Jacques nodded, looking over the text. She then folded them and tucked them into the top drawer of her vanity.

"I've heard rumours that a woman named Carter is in contact with the Invaders, is that you?"

"My sister."

"Have you come in contact with them before?" she asked hesitantly. Her beautiful face wasn't heavily painted in makeup this early in the morning and she seemed more expressive and earnest.

Hermione nodded. She leaned forward in her chair and grabbed the other woman's hand. "Is there something you need?" she asked, suddenly filled with a pang of empathy. Jacques's was an enigma. This beautiful, talented woman doing what she could to get by in a society that didn't appreciate her, doubly so, because of her gender and the colour of her skin. Hermione wished she could do more to help her.

Jacques seemed to hold her breath for a long moment before she gave Hermione a tiny little, genuine smile. A smile that told a love story. "Tell Jacques Dernier that Iris sends her love."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for gore and loss of limb(s).

**27 January 1944**

After finishing up with Antoine, Hermione was set to move into Belgium before the month was out. She had a contact she needed to speak with in Liège.

She's stopped on the outskirts of Namur for the night, hiding in an elderly couple's barn to sleep for the night despite the freezing temperatures. She used Hot-Air Charms to keep the small corner of the pile of hay bales she burrowed in toasty and ate the bit of jerky she'd bargained for earlier in the day. She was just starting to fall asleep when she heard shouting. She startled awake but did not move, hoping to determine the source of the noise without alerting anyone to her position.

She heard an elderly man shouting. There were men laughing and interspersed with the laughter were taunts. It sounded like German. She crept out of her bolthole to investigate. The smell of smoke reached her moments before she heard the crackling of a fire. Flames were starting to lick up the side of the structure. She didn't think she'd been seen but maybe someone had seen her sneak in. Though the elderly man wouldn't set his own barn on fire just to flush someone out. Perhaps the German men outside were just looking to torment the couple.

Hermione turned and scrambled higher up the hay bales towards the loft, away from the heat that was just starting to reach her. She hoped there might be a way onto the roof or a loft door at the back where she might be able to jump out and dash into the woods. She could Apparate out blindly but being so near to Muggles she would surely alert the Aurors to her presence here. She did not want or need the Obliviation Team to show up now. She reached the highest bale of hay at the top of the loft and glanced around. There wasn't a window or loft door. In fact, the wall seemed closer than it should be compared to the lower half of the barn below her. Unless she'd somehow stumbled into Wizard's Space, something was wrong here. She let her gaze scan the wall and the small space between the wall and the stack of bales. There were bits of hay strewn in an odd pattern on the floor in the space. Like a door had opened and brushed them aside. She looked back up at the wall and saw the faintest gap. Once she saw it, it was easy to see the rest of the details. There was a fake partition here. She pushed on the short side of a door and it swung slightly open. It revealed four people huddled together all wearing wide, terrified eyes.

Jews. They looked frozen and dirty and tired. Maybe someone hadn't seen her come into the barn after all. She supposed she was going to have to break Wizarding law anyway and do magic in front of Muggles. From what she could see behind them, there wasn't a loft door. She couldn't just leave them here to burn.

She swore as she climbed down the hay bale into the small space to meet them, speaking in rapid-fire English, then French, then choppy Norwegian on the off-chance that they knew it. They responded in French.

As the fire raced up the dried hay and the aged boards of the barn, she tried to explain that she could get them to the tree line just past the barn but she'd have to take them one at a time. They pushed their youngest, a boy, in her direction without much hesitation and the man offered to help her reclimb the bales hiding the partition. She shook her head, held tight to the boy—who couldn't have been older than nine—and turned on her heel.

Her Apparition pop was quiet but the boy's terrified eyes and queasy expression reminded her how uncomfortable the transportation was said to be for Side-Along passengers. She turned him and pushed, whispering sharply to run and vomit later. Less than two seconds later, she was back inside the partitioned section of the barn. The parents were noticeably more terrified than before but she couldn't help that. She had to get them out. The girl, maybe thirteen, seemed at least a bit calmer and held tightly when Hermione reached for her. She also looked queasy when they appeared at the edge of the trees but understood the need to rush further into the woods where it was dark, where they would have a chance at escape. As Hermione turned to Apparate a fourth time, she caught the men who set the fire. Her Apparition pop might have cracked but she hoped it blended into the sound of the wooden structure starting to collapse.

The fire had reached the loft and the bales that blocked the partition. The tiny space was overwhelmingly sweltering and smokey. Both the man and woman were covering their noses and mouths with rags and squinting through the haze. She reached for the woman and held tight. Trying to keep her focus as she made such fast Apparition jumps. Every time was more dangerous than the last. She could be spotted, she could be heard, she could lose her focus and splinch.

In the middle of her turn, she felt the man grab her arm. She felt the clench and spin of Apparition. She knew she'd made it to the trees when her next inhale was less hot smoke and more crisp winter pine. The man's shout of pain told her what she already knew. She'd splinched him. She opened her eyes, knowing that splinch victims usually had very few precious seconds in which a Stasis Spell could be cast. When her gaze landed on him, she knew it was too late. The wife let out an agonizing wail of grief as he collapsed. His left leg and hand were both gone—splinched and left behind in the burning barn.

Hermione's heart was beating fast in her chest from the multiple Apparitions and she was panting. Over the raging fire, the man's lasts moans, and his wife's heart-wrenching cries, she caught another sound. Someone was clapping. Slow and singular, like they were impressed. She looked up and saw a man leaning against a tree not eight feet away. In his hand was a wand and on his face a smug, greasy smile that sent shivers down her spine.

He made a gesture with his eyebrows and a tilt of his head and she looked back into the woods. Both children were lying face down in the dirt. Hermione found herself hoping for the small mercy that he'd used the Killing Curse and they'd died instantly. It was better than the agony of splinching or burning to death at least.

The woman standing up from where she'd crouched next to her husband had Hermione's attention again. She was covered in her husband's blood. She raised her hands as if she planned to strangle Hermione for what she'd done. Before the woman so much as touched her, she was enveloped in a green light. Her body still held momentum, though, and tumbled into Hermione, knocking her to the ground with dead weight.

There was a flash of red.

* . * . *

When Hermione awoke, she was in a small farmhouse kitchen bound tightly to a chair. Her clothes smelled of smoke and blood and stuck to her skin uncomfortably where she'd sweated through her layers. In front of her was a heavy wooden table. The elderly couple who owned the farm were propped up against one another across the table from her. They stared out at the room with wide, empty, dead eyes. The table was clear except for a dish towel piled at the end like someone had just finished wiping it down. To Hermione's right was a coal-burning stove, still piping hot to heat the farmhouse. The heat it radiated was stifling. There was a heavy iron skillet on top of the stove. Hermione couldn't tell if there was food in it. It didn't smell like it.

To her left, at the head of the table, was the man from before. He was writing in a little notebook with a stubby pencil while he pretended to ignore her. He was dressed as an SS officer. Behind her, she could hear at least one other soldier shuffling around. The officer ooked up at her and smiled. He tucked his notebook and pencil into his jacket pocket and said something that sounded conversational. She assumed it was German. He continued to speak but she only caught a few words because of their similarities to English.

He raised an eyebrow at her and said something else, his inflexion rising to denote a question. "...family...?" When she didn't speak, his smug grin faded as frustration slipped across his features. He backhanded her across the mouth. Pain blossomed across her jaw and where her teeth cut into her cheek; she cried out. As far as an interrogation went, it helped to not understand the question. It didn't bode well for her continued well-being, of course. She tongued the cut in her cheek and tried not to wince at the sting. He said something again and the soldier behind her stepped into her line of sight and shoved a rough hand into her hair. He wrenched her head back with a hard yank and brought his face so close to hers she thought for an instant that he was going to kiss her. His breath smelled of garlic.

Instead, she felt a searing pain in her head that started from her eye socket and spread out to encompass her entire head. She saw images of Michael and Peggy, playing in the yard of Amanda and Harrison's home. She saw flashes of Hogwarts, the inside of the Gryffindor tower and the library. She saw a single flicker of Bucky's blue-grey eyes meeting hers. The man flung her head forward. Her forehead cracked against the wooden table. The man behind her barked out a few words, one of which she caught. "English."

She groaned and lifted her head after a few moments, seeing the dead stare of the elderly couple in duplicate before she blinked it away. Bucky's blue-grey eyes stayed like an afterimage on the backs of her eyelids. The smug man beside her spoke again, this time in heavily accented English.

"I was delightfully surprised to find one of our own hiding with the filth in the barn. What's your family name, girl? We'd like to send a message to them about supporting Grindelwald." Fear blossomed in her gut at his words. Grindelwald's message of exposure meant devastating consequences for all of Wizarding kind. Muggles could absolutely never know about Wizards. If he and his supporters succeeded, then the Muggles would turn and wage war on them. Even if they waited until this war was over, whoever was left would eventually turn on the Wizarding World. She didn't want to imagine the deathly consequences of that war.

"I don't have a family," she said. The lie came easily enough to her lips from the seven years she'd told it in school.

The man behind her said something and Hermione didn't need to recognise the words to understand the sentiment. He'd seen inside her head, somehow; he knew she was lying.

Officer Smug gave a noiseless little huff of amusement and grinned again. "Gustaf tells me you're lying, little girl, but he didn't have to tell me. I can see it in your eyes, in your fear. Tell me, to whom do we send your wand?"

Hermione didn't think she'd ever felt fear like this. Aside from the obvious death threat, the mere idea of her family learning about magic because of her and losing their memories had her pulse racing and her breath coming in gasps. Peggy couldn't lose her memories, the personal ones of Michael and Steve or the ones regarding Project Rebirth, they were vital to the war. She swallowed but it felt like she'd eaten dirt; her throat was dry. "My family isn't magical," she croaked. She cleared her throat and added with a tilted head, baiting him, "You'll just have to bury my wand with me." She didn't know why she was mouthing off but it seemed like the thing to do. She blinked and saw Bucky's eyes again.

Officer Smug laughed. Genuinely laughed like she'd said the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Gustav behind her laughed too. When Smug calmed, he shook his head. "A non-magical couple birthing a witch? It doesn't happen. If it did, that would be a weakness Grindelwald would exploit. Don't lie, child," he chided, "Tell us your family name."

"I'm not lying!" She turned her head too quickly and her vision blurred but she looked back at the man who'd seen inside her head. Beyond him she saw another, sitting as far away from the stove and it's blistering heat as he could while still being in the room. His back was to the wall and he was looking down, cleaning his fingernails with the tip of his knife. "Look in my head again, however you did that," she demanded of the garlic-smelling man. "My family isn't magical!"

The Officer leading the questioning chuckled. "It's one of the mind arts. Dumbledore did his friends a favour when he encouraged that decrepit headmaster Dippet to take them out of the curricula. They're still taught at Durmstrang."

"What do you want with me?" she asked. Her thoughts darkened as the quiet, no-nonsense voice of her SOE instructor talked about the horrors of war no matter what the Geneva Convention promised. She swallowed and tried not to think about Peggy or Bucky.

"Hmm," Smug vocalized. "What indeed?" he asked. He stood and stepped past her to speak quietly with his comrades in German. Hermione didn't catch a word. She turned her face towards the stove again, to try to see the three soldiers in the corner of her vision. It was a strain and she blinked. Her gaze focused on the iron skillet on top of the stove. A voice inside her head seemed to whisper an idea at her. She pulled at the ropes bounding her wrists to the chair.

Gustav-Garlic-Breath came up behind her. She felt chapped lips press against her cheek. She did her best not to squirm or shy away. He was untying her.

As soon as her hands were free, Hermione sprang from the chair. She grabbed the towel from the end of the table, then the skillet. She turned and swung up with all her might. Her arms vibrated when the burning hot pan made contact with Garlic-Breath's face. He fell back over her chair and tumbled to the floor. As she lowered the pan, a flash of green bounced off of it. She looked up to see Smug with his wand pointed at her. He'd cast the Killing Curse. His expression wasn't smug now so much as brassed off. She didn't think she had the strength to raise the heavy pan again with enough force to knock him out, especially now that he was on guard and armed. She'd barrelled into his stomach pan first instead. He shouted as they went down together. She raised the pan over her head and smashed it into his face. Twice.

There was a loud CRACK and the third man, who must have left the room was back, wand in hand. Hermione dropped the pan on Smug's bloody and burnt face and grabbed for his wand. The Reductor Curse she flung at the third man made his lower leg explode into a burst of red mist. He dropped with a howl of pain. He released his wand as he grabbed for his thigh. She almost sent another explosive spell aimed at his head but in the second she hesitated, his head fell back as he passed out from pain and blood loss.

She was panting heavily as she realised what she'd done. She was straddling Smug, her knees on either side of his waist. The skillet had slipped and lay partially on his face and neck. The skin where it had touched had bubbled and turned pink. Her hands felt just as tender. She turned to look at Garlic-Breath, whose face also had a red burn mark across it. His face was also streaked with blood. After another few seconds, she realised that Smug's Killing Curse must have ricocheted off the pan and hit Garlic-Breath.

As she calmed, she noticed that other than her, Officer Smug was the only one still breathing. She clambered off of him and slipped the knife from her boot. Before she lost her nerve she slid it smoothly into the hollow of his throat and pulled it back. She gagged at the coppery smell when bright blood bubbled up and out of the hole she'd made. His eyes opened wide as he woke with the pain. His hands scrambled up to claw at his neck, a futile attempt to staunch the flow. His attempts grew weak and within seconds, his hands stilled and flopped lifelessly askew. She looked around the room. Blood was spattered everywhere, from the fine coat of mist across the floor to the enlarging puddle forming under the man at her feet. She took a deep breath to try to calm herself but the tang of copper and burnt skin was strong in the air and she gagged. She threw up her sparse dinner in chunks all over Smug's face.

When the dry heaving stopped, she gathered up the wands and any Muggle weapons they had on them. She checked their pockets. She found her own wand tucked away in Smug's holster. Out of curiosity, she also took the notebook he'd been scribbling in earlier. Opening it, she found it filled with small cramped German. There was a passage in another language, something older, perhaps, and in the margins were three words written in English like he'd only made the slightest attempts at translating it. "Forbidden," "rebirth," and "power." What were Grindelwald wizards doing with research notes about Project Rebirth and the super soldier serum?

She frowned when she realised that her suitcase had burned with the barn and went about searching the farmhouse for something else she could use as a rucksack. Once her collection of things was tucked away in a new bag she dug through the elder woman's clothes until she found things that might work for her.

Under the cover of the night, she returned to the smouldering ruins of the barn and conjured stretchers for the four corpses outside. She floated them into the kitchen with the rest.

She found the water pump outside and hauled a heavy bucket of water into the house. She warmed the water with a spell and washed up. She slept upstairs in one of the beds. When dawn broke over the horizon, she opened the kitchen door enough to aim her wand at the wood stove. It was still warm but had mostly burned itself out. She coaxed the fire inside it to a roaring blaze and then opened the door of it with a flick of her wand. Sparks crackled and exploded out of it with the gush of oxygenated air. She could just see where the sparks landed on the wood floor. She helped them along.

She left with her rucksack and the little notebook but tossed the three Nazis' wands back into the kitchen. Smoke from the burning farmhouse followed her for miles as she walked through the woods to her destination.


	7. Chapter 7

**30 January 1944**

Bucky was exhausted and irritated. Gabe and Jim had got through to dispatch but news was they weren't going to be picked up at the previously determined extraction point. It seemed while they were working on blowing up the HYDRA base here in Belgium, German forces had started to move in behind them. They weren't sure if those forces knew they were there or if the timing of things was just wrong. Either way, it boiled down to attempting to sneak between several large contingencies of enemy forces with no explosives, little ammo, and not nearly enough rations to get them through several days of weaselling their way back to Allied territory.

Bucky didn't mind stealth but Steve did. Hearing that they'd have to creep their way through a good eighty miles while avoiding roads and enemies had him glaring at the worn map he had laid out over the shield. Bucky walked over to Steve, knowing he had the best chance at weathering their Captain's stubborn anger more than the others.

"What do you want to do, Rogers?" He asked, sitting down next to Steve and leaning close to look at the map. Steve's thumb and forefinger were curling the bottom right corner of the paper. The ink there was already starting to fade a little from the stress.

"You know what I want to do, Buck, just go right through them. We're supposed to recoup in London. I'm tired, you guys are tired. This was supposed to be the easy part." Steve said softly. His lips twisted like he was trying to force his frustration back down.

"Yeah, but we can't. So how do we proceed instead?" Bucky coaxed. This was his job, really, working as the middleman between officers and his men. Helping a specific officer that didn't actually go through officer training on how to come up with alternative solutions. He pointed to a thin blue line on the map near their location. "There. That leads parallel with the road we'd planned to take, doesn't it? If we follow that river we might could shave off a few miles. See how it cuts sharper here? We might make the coast quicker but Howard's extraction ship could probably get to us there. Whatcha think?"

Steve nodded. His forehead wrinkled as he followed the new path with his eyes. Bucky knew the topography maps were one of the more difficult for Steve to visualise for some reason. He figured it had to do with how Steve had been an artist before a soldier. "Yeah, I guess that will—"

"Hey fellas?" Gabe said from where he and Jim were still sitting by the radio with headphones on. "I've got a message incoming." Bucky watched as Gabe's eyes went distant as he listened. His fingers tapped out the message as he heard it, translating the short Morse code missive in his head. "S'from Carter," he said, brow furrowed. "Says to expect a truck in five?"

Bucky and Steve were both shaking their heads at him. "No, she wouldn't have... Not when Phillips just caught enemy movement this close to us," Steve said. Bucky agreed with him. Something wasn't right.

An odd roll of thunder in the distance caught their attention. Bucky glanced up, expecting quick moving heavy, black rain clouds but didn't see a cloud in the sky. After a moment, what had seemed like a peal of thunder came again, louder and with more percussion. "What the—are those explosions?"

A troop transport truck growled as it rolled to a stop on the road just beyond their hiding spot, coming from the direction of the explosions. It made a slow, five-point turn before turning off. The door opened and Millie slumped out.

Another series of explosions went off even closer than before. "Are you boys coming, or what?" she called out.

Dum Dum was the first to grab up his gun and his kit. "I ain't saying no to a ride," he said when Steve turned around to look at him. The others started to pick up and move towards her but Bucky hung back.

"Everything okay, Steve?"

"Do you get the impression that she's following us?" He asked, glancing back to Bucky. The look Steve gave him, with eyebrows raised and the hint of a smirk on his lips had heat rising up his neck and face. Steve's smirk turned into a full knowing smile. Apparently, Bucky blushing over a dame was enough confirmation to him about whatever he was really asking. "Come on," he said, hoisting his pack and shield.

Bucky grabbed his kit and rifle and followed Steve towards the truck. The others were pulling a motorcycle out of the back, bickering good-naturedly with one another over who was going to ride it and who was going to drive the truck. He approached Millie instead. "You want to ride the bike with me, Millie?"

Up close he could see dark shadows under her eyes. She had dirt marks on one half of her face like she'd fallen down. There was a yellow-green tint to the skin on her forehead and jaw that had him itching to reach forward to see how bad the bruising was. She cleared her throat with a wince and when she looked up at him to answer he could see red marks around her throat. "I'm so tired I'd probably fall off."

He reached out and pinched the collar of her shirt to pull it away from her neck so he could see the marks better. "Millie? Are you okay?" He let his gaze slip from the marks at her neck and then looked down over her outfit. Her clothes didn't look torn or hastily replaced but they did look dirty like she'd fallen or been shoved.

She nodded and leaned back away, her collar slipping from his fingers. He let his hand drop. "I'm fine. Just tired."

The questions about her bruises and other injuries burned in his chest but he didn't ask. A fit of low anger simmered in his gut towards whoever it was that hurt her. "You're coming with us, right?" She nodded. "You want to sit in the back with the fellas?"

"I want to sit with you."

Steve came up next to them. "How clear is the road? Those explosions your doing?"

She looked slightly more alert when she answered him. "Yes. The road should be clear now but I brought the motorbike for someone to ride ahead just in case more showed up. I think I got them all."

"How'd you get all of them? At once?"

She grinned but it only seemed to emphasize how tired she looked. "Timed explosives and remote detonations."

"Over a hundred-thirty kilometres of road?"

"Sixty-five. It should be mostly clear beyond that. If not, I can..." she gestured with a vague twitch of her fingers. "I can clear the way a second time if need be."

Steve frowned but nodded and shared a glance with Bucky. He shrugged. "Monty is going to be driving. He'd like a gun up front to keep him company. I'll ride ahead on the bike."

Bucky nodded. "Got it." He walked to the back of the truck and tossed his kit in where the others had already started to settle. He came around to the passenger side and slid in, propping his rifle on the seat between him and Monty. Millie followed and instead of sitting where he'd meant for her, beside him, she crawled in and sat sideways on his lap with her ass between his thighs. She pulled the door shut after her and then leaned against his chest, her head on his shoulder.

"Not what I had in mind when I asked for a gun up front, Barnes," Monty mumbled as he started the truck.

Without moving from against him or opening her eyes, Millie reached down and pulled up her trouser leg, revealing a pistol strapped to her calf. She unfastened the snap holding it in place so it could be grabbed quickly if necessary. So Bucky could reach it if he needed to. She pressed her face tighter against his shoulder. "Are you okay?" he whispered. She nodded again.

He wrapped his arms around her, ostensibly to put his hand closer to her pistol. He laid his cheek against her head. Her hair smelled of tea, gunpowder, and dirt. She was warm and with her pressed against him, he could feel it seeping through his coat. Her weight in his lap made him want to close his eyes and sleep. He knew better, of course. He kept his eyes open and watching. Following Steve on the bike ahead of them and watching the sides of the road for enemies. He was glad she felt comfortable enough to rest with him.

The road was clear.

They saw the devastation of the explosives Millie had rigged and some of the woods were still on fire when they went by but there were no alive or active enemy soldiers. When Steve pulled the bike to the side of the road, Monty followed, slowing and stopping. Up ahead they could see the coast and their departing vehicle. Trust Howard to have a plane ready for takeoff on a stretch of beach. Steve pulled back out and drove down the shallow embankment and Monty glanced over at Bucky. As they started to follow, Bucky tightened his grip on Millie. The bumpy, jerky drop as the truck started off the road was enough to wake her up. They could hear the guys in the back also shout and possibly fall over where they'd started to doze. Bucky shared a chuckle with Monty.

When they finally came to a stop near the plane, Millie didn't seem like she was going to move. "Come on, doll," Bucky whispered.

The door opened and Peggy stood there, hands on her hip with a complicated look on her face. Some mix of amusement and chastisement and fondness as she looked at her sister, curled up on his lap. "What did you do?" she said.

"I wanted a ride," Millie answered quietly. She turned her head and he could hear her try to swallow. "So I got one."

"How did you get past all of the enemy troops? Surveillance flights showed the area covered with them," Peggy asked as she offered her hands to her sister to help her get out of the truck. Bucky belatedly remembered he was still holding her; he reached down and snapped her pistol holder closed and let her go.

Millie took her sister's hands and leveraged off his lap, slumping out of the truck like she was still dead on her feet. "I blew them up."

"Blew them up?" Peggy repeated, looking shocked and frustrated. "With what ordnance?"

The shit-eating grin Millie gave Peggy had a chuckle slipping past Bucky's lips without permission. Peggy glanced up at him but returned her gaze to her sister. "Their own," she answered. She picked up a bag out from under the seat and tipped it open. Over four hundred grenade pins fell into a pile at their feet. Bucky knew his mouth wasn't the only one that went slack at that.

"Shit," Bucky said, starting to laugh. Even he could tell that it was a hysterical, exhausted sound.

Dum Dum must have come close to greet Peggy but turned around to shout at the others. "Dernier, you've got some competition when it comes to blowing shit up! Look at this!" He said, pointing at the pile of pins. He came up close to Millie and slapped her on the back and pulled her into a one-armed hug. The smell of whisky was strong on his clothes. "Gonna make you an honorary part of the team, girl. Maybe kick Frenchie out." He turned to Bucky and smacked him on the arm with the back of his hand. In a stage whisper and gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder back at Millie he said, "Hang on to this one, she's always bringing us good things."

Peggy's brows lifted in their direction and Bucky ducked his head, fighting that telltale blush that had given him away to Steve. Peggy reached out and put her arm over her sister's shoulder, leading her towards their plane. He watched them walk for a moment before he reached back into the truck and grabbed his rifle. He headed to the back to get his kit. He felt colder than before, missing the heat of her body against him. He could still smell tea in his nose; it made him smile.

* . * . *

The plane ride back to London was both loud and quiet. The plane itself was loud. Dual engines roaring, wind whistling, metal creaking. The people on board were still hushed and tired. The flight was only an hour but it was going on dusk when they'd finally taken off and the dim light in the aircraft added to the need to be quiet and still.

Peggy had not wanted to let Hermione out of her sight so she was sitting at the front of the plane across from her sister. Captain Rogers was sitting next to her, looking smaller than normal because he sat with his legs pressed tight together and his shoulders hunched. If the two of them were sharing whispers, Hermione couldn't hear them. Bucky was sitting next to the Captain, leaning back looking exceptionally relaxed and comfortable with air travel. If she couldn't feel his gaze lingering on her, she would have assumed he was asleep.

The other commandos were all in various stages of relaxation or tension. When Dugan had sat next to her and offered her the first pull from a new bottle of whisky she'd taken it. He'd taken it back while she coughed but by the time Stark had got them in the air she was so over-tensed from coughing her body almost felt relaxed when she went back to worrying about plummeting to their deaths.

Hermione did not enjoy flying. At all.

She assumed she would have felt more at ease had she been sitting next to Bucky but that part of the seating arrangement had been because Rogers wanted his best friend next to him. Something about wanting to make sure their reports were square. They didn't end up talking. Rogers was too busy making moon-eyes at Peggy and Bucky was pretending to be asleep. Hermione almost wanted a second pull on that whisky bottle. She debated patting Dugan on the arm but then Howard called over his shoulder about how they'd be landing in five minutes. She figured she could hold on that much longer.

When they were finally on the ground again, Bucky came up next to her. He herded her away from Peggy and the others. "I don't know about the other guys but you look like you feel just as exhausted as I do so I'm not going to ask if you'll come drinking and dancing with us tonight," he said. He turned and the kit he was carrying on his shoulder made a nice barricade between them and everyone else. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his words came slowly like he had been dozing on the plane. "Steve'll have meetings all tomorrow, most like, and he'll get us a few days leave. He usually does." His lips curled into a tired little smile. "I'd love to take you dancing tomorrow night, Millie. What do you say?"

She couldn't stop the smile that started to form on her lips. She nodded. "Yes, I'd like that. I don't know about drinking though..."

He licked his bottom lip and her tired mind focused much too intently on the wetness he left behind. "Dinner first. How's that?"

"Sounds wonderful," she said. She told him where she and Peggy lived in the city and he teased and said he might need a map but he promised to be at her door at seven for their date. "Goodnight, Bucky."

"Sleep well, doll."

Shortly thereafter, Peggy dragged her home and interrogated her. "What are you doing, Millie? How did you cross paths with the tactical team? Did you do it on purpose? How did you find them? Do you know how dangerous it was? What does SOE have you doing?"

Hermione held up her hands in surrender as she all but collapsed into the spindle-legged chair next to their rickety table, hoping the behaviour would stop the barrage of questions. She blinked her weighted lids and looked longingly towards their bed. "I had a contact in Liège a few days ago. I met them, got the intel I was sent to get and was told to return home. I was already past all the enemy troops when I... might have... intercepted your message to the tactical team regarding their extraction point. So I stole a truck and..." she paused, hoping Peggy might leave well enough alone, "went back for them." She didn't want to have to lie to her sister. She'd already done a ridiculously bad thing by showing off all those grenade pins. She didn't want to come up with a Muggle explanation for her reckless use of magic. Summoning the pins as she drove like a maniac through enemy territory was probably enough to have the International Aurors investigate. She didn't need Peggy looking into it and crossing paths with them.

They'd all been told time and again at Hogwarts to have no contact with Muggles whatsoever or else there would be punishment and potential imprisonment in Azkaban. It hadn't stopped Hermione from signing up for Bletchley as soon as she stepped foot off the train. She didn't know what Aurors would do to her family if her involvement was discovered. She was loath to find out.

Hermione had lost herself in her thoughts but Peggy seemed to understand and didn't ask any more questions about that. Instead, she went to the commode in the corner and poured some water into a bowl. She brought it back with a flannel and set both down on the table. She leaned forward and started unbuttoning Hermione's blouse. "All right, no more questions about your work. Tell me about Sergeant Barnes." She frowned as she got a look at the marks on Hermione's neck and the fading bruise on her jaw. "And maybe tell me about these?" she asked, still conversationally. "I do hope the two are mutually exclusive."

"Yes, no. The bruises were from a smug Nazi whom I got back with a hot skillet." Hermione raised her hand to touch the tender red strangulation marks. "These, well, I should know better than to agree to a ride from a stranger no matter how nice they might appear." Peggy's eyebrows went up and there was a touch of fear in her expression. Hermione shook her head. "Nothing happened but in retaliation, I did steal his truck." In actual fact, she'd left the bastard lying on the side of the road cradling his crushed testicles with broken fingers that were bloody from a broken nose. Don't ever let it be said that she couldn't hold her own.

"You should have done more than that," Peggy murmured as she slowly wiped at the mix of dirt and makeup that felt caked onto Hermione's face.

Hermione smiled and reassured her sister. "Oh, I did."

Peggy huffed through her nose as if irritated that she couldn't also punch the arse for putting his hands on her. "Good." Another few gentle swipes and Peggy rinse the flannel and started in on Hermione's collarbone. "Now, about Barnes..."

"What about him?" Hermione hedged. She wasn't sure if she was exhausted enough not to blush.

"So he was the one...?"

She was proud of herself when she looked Peggy in the eye and answered levelly, "Yes, he was the one. I crossed paths with the team near Christmas and we had a moment to ourselves then as well."

Peggy's lips pressed together and a little crease appeared between her brows. "You're being careful, though, yes?"

"Yes," she answered. She took the flannel from Peggy and started washing her arms. She was going to need to scrub her extremities; she was sure there was dirt in her boots. "He's taking me to dinner and dancing tomorrow."

"Oh, is he?" Peggy asked, grinning. "What if I wanted a nice evening in with my sister? You've been gone a while. Mum and Dad said you haven't written, either."

"When would I have been able to post a letter? The few cities I've stayed in lately have been occupied. Sending post home is a giant flag that something's not as it seems. I have to be careful."

"I know," she said, "So I told them that the next time I saw you I would make sure you put pen to paper. They worry about you too, you know. Especially since..."

Hermione nodded, feeling her chest ache when she thought about Michael. "How's Edith and Harry?"

"They're managing, staying with Mum and Dad, of course. Edith's parents are older and having a four-year-old around is tiring. He's not as clever as you were at that age but Edith says he's doing well with his numbers and letters."

Peggy quieted as Hermione continued washing and when the bowl of water was dirty she took it out to the shared facilities to empty. While she was out, Hermione dressed for bed and combed through her curls. She would do a better job of washing tomorrow before her date but right now, she was just ready to sleep. She crawled in the bed and mumbled a good night to her sister. She was asleep before Peggy slipped under the covers on her side.


	8. Chapter 8

**31 January 1944**

Hermione slept hard through the night and Peggy let her sleep in most of the morning. She was out of their flat by early afternoon to report in at SOE and receive her next assignment. She was to go into Linz, Austria to gather details about the labour camp that was said to be nearby. The entire operation hinged on her ability to blend in and worm her way into the upper echelon's good graces. It wouldn't be like her previous assignments; she wouldn't have a contact inside. She was terrified at the prospect.

She was still reeling from the information overload and the intimidating nature of her next assignment that she dressed for her date with Bucky without really thinking about it. At least Peggy had stopped by to give her a once over and ask if she needed any condoms. Hermione wasn't sure if that's how Bucky planned to end the evening so when he arrived she was ushered out the door with the Peggy Carter clutch-treatment. Lipstick, prophylactic, handgun.

"Why'd your sister give me that look before she closed the door?" Bucky asked as he escorted her down the stairs and out onto the pavement.

"She's just being a big sister," Hermione answered, though she couldn't keep the grin from her lips.

Bucky tilted his head at her before glancing down at her clutch. "Pistol?"

"And condom," she said quickly, feeling heat climb up her neck and settle on her cheeks.

He tipped his head back and laughed. He glanced around to see if he'd drawn too much attention before looking back down at her. "I think I like your sister." He bent low and whispered near her ear, "I've got one in my back pocket." A puff of warm, wet air tickled her skin and she shivered. He pointed to the tavern on the corner. "Hope that's a suitable place to eat?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, they've got a delicious steak and kidney pie, or at least they used to."

"Good, I was worried Monty was trying to sabotage this."

"Now why would he do that?" she asked, a hint of a tease in her tone.

"Well, sometimes when we're bored we play pranks on one another. Mine just happen to come off more often than the others'. I think the last one got tree sap on Monty's beret. He smelled like pine for three days."

Hermione chuckled. It felt nice to be silly and flirty. It kept the terror of her newest assignment at bay. They kept their banter light and continued it throughout the meal. Bucky told fun, silly stories about the tactical team and Steve Rogers back in New York and Hermione told stories, sans magic, about her time in boarding school and with Michael and Peggy.

The meal was tasty and he didn't overindulge in whisky. When they were finishing up, he glanced around and his gaze landed on a sign next to an unoccupied upright piano that said 'no dancing.' He frowned. "Well, umm, we could go back to the pub where the team were gathering. They didn't seem to mind when we danced there in November. What do you say?"

"That's fine. I have a message for Jacques Dernier if we see him."

"Dernier? What about? If I'm allowed to ask?" Bucky asked as he paid for the meal and helped Hermione into her coat. She pulled her knit cap and gloves out of her pocket and donned them.

"I met someone in Paris that asked me to pass along something, is all." As they stepped out into the dark, cold night, Bucky put his arm around her back. The heat coming off his body made Hermione want to crawl into his clothes with him. She tucked her hands into her pockets and raised her shoulders to help keep her own body heat in.

"So, you're an Agent but not with SSR. Ungentlemanly warfare you said, right?" When she nodded he continued, "Do you work out of London, here?"

"I do," she answered.

"Have you got new orders? We've got ours but it's going to be slow going actually getting there and uncovering our target."

"I do have a new assignment. It's," she breathed deeply for a moment, "It's going to be difficult in a way that I haven't really been tested yet. I'm scared."

"Oh, doll," he said, pulling her around to wrap his arms around her in a proper hug. He pressed his face against the top of her knit cap. "You'll be okay. You hear me? You're going to do just fine." Hermione wished she could melt into his arms and stay there forever. She might have even whimpered a little as he pulled away. He reached down and entangled his hand with hers. They walked a bit slower towards the pub. "I'm scared too," he said, softly but there weren't very many people around to hear him. "I still have nightmares about what happened in Kreischberg." Hermione was only vaguely aware of what he was referring but she knew he'd been on the front lines with his unit before they were captured and Captain Rogers liberated them all. "Wake up disorientated, fearing that everything after was just a fevered hallucination." With the city in blackout and the moon a fat crescent in the sky, the streets were dark and Hermione had trouble seeing his face while he spoke. She wondered if that made his confession easier. "But then I'll hear Monty snoring and it's grounding. I guess it's silly that something as annoying as snoring could make the memories less horrifying or painful but... it does." She squeezed his hand tightly. He glanced down and she could just make out the curve of his lips into a little smile.

She smiled back, hoping he could see her appreciation in her eyes. She thought it was brave of him to open up to her like that. She suddenly felt heartsick with a yearning so deep it was almost a physical ache. She wanted to tell him about her being a witch. She wanted that, to be open and honest, with all her being. She wanted his acceptance. She couldn't though. If anyone found out that he knew about the magical world... And just as quickly as her yearning came over her, a chill swept up her spine and down her arms that had nothing to do with the freezing winter air. Even when the war was over and if whatever they were grew deeper, she would never be able to share that part of her life with him. She'd either have to forsake her magic or never be truthful with him about who she was. Her eyes started to burn from the sudden onset of tears. She blinked them and hoped he wouldn't notice.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead like her silence was for his emotional confession. She wanted to go back to that, just moments ago, before she realised the hopeless aching of being her true self with him. She looked up as he squeezed her hand again. "You okay?" he asked.

"Are you?" she countered; it had been him doing the intimate sharing, after all.

This time when he smiled she could just make out the brittle edges of it in the faint light coming from the pub door. "I think we will be. Ready to dance?" His smile transformed from pained to real, causing soft creases at the corners of his eyes.

"Yes, let's."

He opened the pub door and let her enter first, letting the laughter, piano, and drunken singing break up the tender moment between them. When he stepped in behind her, pulling the door close behind him, a chorus of shouts when up. They both sought out the raised sound in the noise, spotting the table with the rest of the team. Captain Rogers wasn't with them and Hermione wondered if Peggy had dragged him off somewhere. They headed towards the team's table and Hermione tugged off her cap and gloves. When they stood at the table, they greeted the group and the group greeted them. Dum Dum even offered to buy them a whisky.

"No, thank you," she said. Bucky took him up on the offer and while he was off to get himself the drink and a seltzer water for her, she spoke to the man sitting to the right of the circle. "Dernier." He looked up at her, his black moustache curling up at the sides as he smiled. She leaned closer and spoke in French, "Iris sends her love." His smile increased ten-fold even as the others, mainly Dugan, started shouting and clamouring to know what she'd told him to make him smile that big. She could tell he wanted to ask more questions but he held himself back. She would have answered whatever he'd asked if she could but Bucky was back and handing her drink to her. The team cajoled them to sit with them so they joined the table. They listened to Dugan butcher a retelling of a prank that Bucky had told her about earlier in the evening while they sipped their drinks. When Dugan finally ended his rendition, Bucky excused them to the dance floor; the soldier playing the piano had just started an upbeat number that was perfect for the Lindy Hop.

* . * . *

The walk back to Hermione's flat was interrupted by air raid sirens. Bucky's body language had shifted from carefree and relaxed to tense and alert within a second of the discordant wailing. Hermione grabbed his hand and tugged him gently when he froze. They were only a few minutes from the flat she shared with Peggy and there was a shelter in the basement of the building.

"What are you doing?" Bucky asked, his gaze darting to a sign for shelter they passed. "Don't we need to—"

"They tell you that if you're within five minutes of home, go home. There's a shelter in the basement of our building. Peggy'll have brought blankets if we're lucky." She answered. She walked with purpose but didn't run. It was obvious by his quick glancing around that he'd never experienced an air raid like this before. Hermione moved faster when she heard the droning hum of the plane engines. It was still faint but she knew they'd be more overwhelming than the sirens by the time they were overhead. Bucky didn't have trouble keeping pace with her but his grip on her hand was tight. Hermione didn't even stop as she pulled him down the stairs at the sign bolted into the brick at the corner of her building. She pulled him into the dimly light basement to see many of her neighbours already settling down in their usual places. She didn't see Peggy at first and she scanned the room a second time. At her side, Bucky's grip loosened for an instant.

Then the droning engines weren't the only loud noises. The softer crashes and the loud ear-splitting booms of the bombs falling had the walls shimmying and brick dust billowing into the air. Bucky wrapped his arms around her from behind. That was when she saw Peggy, standing up to look for her among the crowd. In front of where she had been sitting was Captain Rogers, turning around to look at them. Hermione released the worried breath she'd been holding. She took another breath and pulled herself out of Bucky's arms to weave her way through the crowd to her sister.

Peggy reached out to touch her cheek and brush her hand down her shoulder before she smiled. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly.

Hermione nodded. She made a slight gesture with her head behind her towards Bucky. Peggy's lips pursed and she glanced up at him quickly before remeeting Hermione's gaze. She nodded once. The little exchange happened fast and by the time Captain Rogers was standing and grabbing Bucky by the arm in reassurance, they were turning as one unit to face the men. Bucky looked a little less tense. Peggy gestured to the little pile of blankets next to the wall where she'd been sitting.

"Might as well get comfortable," she said. Rogers and Bucky shared a look and then sat down with their backs against the wall. Bucky reached up first, pulling Hermione down between his legs. She smiled and went where he needed her. He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned back against his chest. Rogers was more hesitant but Peggy smiled at him and positioned herself similarly in his arms. Hermione grabbed a blanket and fluffed it out, draping it over both herself and Bucky. Peggy did the same with the other blanket.

"I sort of expected more screaming and crying," Bucky said quietly into Hermione's ear.

She turned to speak near his ear so she wouldn't have to talk over the sudden sound of machine gun fire. "Maybe in the Underground or when there are babies and children." Bucky's gaze shifted over the crowd and she knew he was realising there weren't any young children. Many of the people in the crowd were elderly or if they were younger, they were just couples or siblings, like she and Peggy. She looked at her sister and Rogers out of the corner of her eye. "Your friend doesn't seem bothered."

She felt his chest shake in a silent chuckle. "I think that's the closest he's ever got to a dame."

"I'm sorry you're anxious," she whispered.

"It's better now," he admitted, "The sirens are terrifying. I'm more used to the aeroplanes and gunfire." She nodded.

They fell silent as they waited for the all-clear and Hermione let her eyes fall closed as she soaked in the warmth of Bucky's body. She must have even started to doze through the vibrating walls and teeth-rattling blasts of the bombs because when she heard the all-clear siren she startled. Bucky's arms tightened around her to stop her from headbutting him by accident. "Hey, you're okay," he murmured in her ear. "That means it's over, right?"

She nodded. "Yes. For tonight."

The couple dozen people in the room seemed to have heaved a collective sigh of relief as they started waking up their family members to get them to head upstairs.

"Wish you could stay," she admitted as softly as she could.

His breath was hot on her ear as he closed his lips around her earlobe. "I can't?" he asked, mischief clear in his tone and action.

Hermione shook her head the slightest bit, not wanting to dislodge his mouth from her skin. "We only have the one bed."

"I'd settle for a couch just to keep you in my arms, sweetheart. As circumstances go, this one wasn't my favourite but I can't deny I like where we ended up."

She turned enough to look him in the face and smiled. "I liked this too."

"Millie?" Peggy's voice interrupted them and Hermione turned around to see that they were almost the last in the basement. Rogers was standing awkwardly with a folded blanket in his arms watching Peggy watch them. Hermione nodded and reached up to grip her sister's hand, leveraging herself up.

Bucky stood up soon after, rolling his shoulders back. He turned his head into his shoulder to hide a yawn even as he rolled the blanket that had slipped off them into a ball. He looked just as awkward as his friend and Hermione found it adorable. She caught herself yawning as well and hid it behind her hand. She reached out and took the blanket from Rogers and Bucky then grabbed Bucky's hand to pull him toward the stairs.

"I had a great time tonight, thank you, Bucky," she told him in the moment of privacy they had as Peggy also told Rogers goodnight behind them.

"You're welcome, dollface. Do we have a few more days or are you shipping out tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," she said and she had never hated the word as much as right then.

"You'll be fine and when you're done, we'll see each other again. Maybe we can find a bed next time?" He grinned cheekily at her and she giggled at his attempt to keep the mood light. She nodded as Peggy and Rogers joined them. The climbed the stairs and stepped out of the shelter to glance around. Nothing in the immediate vicinity looked flattened but Hermione could see emergency service vehicles farther down the street. She frowned and looked at the others who were also showing similar looks of concern and distress. Emergency services weren't something that she had much training in and she would just be in the way of the people who knew what they were doing.

Peggy was the one to bring the evening to a close. "Be safe and warm on the walk back to the club, gentlemen."

Rogers nodded, his expression and his gaze tender as he looked at Peggy. Hermione couldn't help but smile with fondness at her sister and her soldier. She looked at Bucky to see a similar tenderness in his eyes focused on her. "Goodnight, Bucky. Rogers."

Both men said variants of the same simultaneously before turning around. Peggy grabbed her hand and pulled her upstairs to their flat. Once inside, Hermione asked with another yawn, "Do we need to strip the sheets from the bed?"

Peggy pretended to look scandalised before she shook her head. "No, Captain Rogers and I did not—"

"Captain Rogers? Come on, Pegs, at least call him by his first name. It's obvious he's sweet on you."

She conceded with a little smile. "Steve and I did not spend the evening in dishabille."

Hermione snorted and headed towards the bed, peeling off her clothes as she went. Peggy didn't say anything as she did more or less the same thing just with more folding involved. When Peggy turned out the dim light at her side of the bed, Hermione turned to her. "I'm scared, Pegs," she whispered. She had been right earlier when she came to the conclusion about Bucky, the dark made the confession easier.

Peggy settled down under the blankets and faced her. "About what?" When Hermione didn't answer right away she guessed, "About how you feel about Barnes?"

"No," she answered quickly and almost too loudly. Peggy snorted unladylike. "No. He makes me unbelievably happy. No, I'm scared about my newest assignment. It's... espionage to the _n_ th degree. I'm not sure I'm ready."

"I think you'll do well. Did you know, there's a woman who works for SOE, who chats up agents on their first mission in Britain to try and get them to spill their secrets? I don't even remember my encounter but my file says I did marginally well. Yours? She couldn't even get the name of the academy you went to out of you, barely even got your name. You did exceptionally well, Millie."

It was Hermione's turn to snort unladylike. The academy was one of the many lies she'd had to tell for seven years. Dilys Derwent's Academy for Gifted Girls. It was because of the pseudo-school's elite nature that, along with Peggy's recommendation, allowed Hermione into Bletchley and fast-tracked to SOE. It wasn't just her magic that Hermione had learned to lie about, it was everything; no wonder the agent thought she was exceptionally tight-lipped. She only wished she'd known how to stop Garlic-Breath from taking her secrets. She needed to research the mind arts but she didn't have access to the Hogwarts library or time to visit the bookstore on Diagon Alley if it was still standing from the air raids. "How did you get access to those files?"

Hermione's eyes had adjusted enough to the dark to see Peggy grin. "SSR, basically. Plus I've done a bit of infiltration before."

"You? Infiltration?" Hermione teased. She'd never seen her sister work but she couldn't help but joke a little. Her skin felt too tight like she was going to split open from her fears; start crying and never be able to stop.

"Hey, I do infiltration well, thank you."

"I'm sure you do, Pegs." They were quiet for a long time before Hermione whispered, "Goodnight, Peggy. I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used this [VR experience on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8FpQM6FEqWE) as a bit of research for the air raid. There were some comments there from someone who lived through the experience as well that I found quite moving.


	9. Chapter 9

**3 February 1944**

The journey to Linz was shorter than Hermione expected. She didn't have a contact but she had expensive clothing and hidden compartments of money. She used her magic to hide them even further in her bags. She even got to pick her own name and for the first time in seventeen years, she was known as something close to what she'd been given at birth.

Hermine Gravois.

It took her the first month of attending the theatre and dining alone in elegant places before she was approached by Inge Kuhn, a young woman with blonde hair styled into meticulous curls. She was the first to test Hermione's cover. They actually got along well. They spent most of a week together getting to know one another before Inge decided it was time for Hermione to meet Margot.

They were having lunch when several of well-dressed men and women entered the restaurant. Inge stood and waved to the women and then leaned over to Hermione, "Mina, you see the dark-haired woman?" she asked in French. The only dark-haired woman among the group was older than they were and seemed to demand attention just by her presence. "That's Margot Pohl, I was telling you about her." And that was Hermione's introduction to the upper echelon of Linz.

Margot Pohl lorded the power of her husband's position over the other women in the circle. Her husband, Oswald Pohl, was one of the men in charge of the Mauthausen labour camp.

The oldest man of the mix of acquaintances was August Pohl, one of Oswald's elder brothers. At first, he looked at Hermione as if she were just another insipid little girl. Three weeks passed after Hermione joined the circle of well-appointed men and women before August started coming around more often and including Hermione in the conversations during dinner parties.

It was the beginning of April and they were having a dinner party at the Schulz's home. Hermione had stepped out of the stuffy parlour onto the veranda to get a little fresh air; the air was cool but there was a faint odour on the wind. She wrinkled her nose as she turned away from the lawn, hoping to get the smell out of her sinuses. August was standing at the door like he'd just stepped out. "Forgive my original coolness, Madam Gravois, but with the war on we cannot be too careful," he said, stepping close to her. "Your loveliness has not gone unnoticed, however."

Hermione lowered her head and smiled, oddly uncomfortable with the compliment. "Thank you," she said.

"I'd like to take you to the theatre next week, if I may."

She looked up and tried not to frown. "Inge hasn't mentioned—"

"Just us."

She swallowed her nerves and smiled again. "Of course, I believe I'd enjoy that."

He smiled at her and offered his arm to her, "Let's return inside, shall we? I think Hugo and Sigrid will think I've absconded with you otherwise." She smiled and set her arm on his and let him lead her inside. She studied his profile as they went. He had dark hair, thinned and combed over to make up for male-pattern baldness. He didn't wear glasses so his light eyes stood out on his sun-darkened skin. He wore a beard and moustache short and neat but it added age to his already early-sixties wrinkles. She wondered if he thought the beard made him distinguished and the image of Professor Dumbledore lecturing on the properties of human-to-animal transfiguration came to mind.

"Ah, Hermine!" Sigrid Schulz smiled and welcomed Hermione back into the dinner party. August patted Hermione on the hand and gave her a little smile before stepping away to speak with Hugo. "Is everything all right?" she said, giving her a little knowing grin like she was in on some secret.

Hermione just smiled and agreed. Even if she was expected to gossip with these women, nothing gossip-worthy had really happened yet. Sigrid walked her over to the where the rest of the women were gathered.

Margot Pohl was holding court in German but dropped the topic she was speaking about as Hermione joined them. "Hermine," she said, switching to French to include her. "Tell me, will you be joining us at Mass on Sunday morning? I have yet to see you there."

Hermione felt like she was under a microscope as she smiled politely and quickly came up with the best answer to get her closer to Margot and to be invited into the Pohl home. "I'd be delighted to join you."

"You're Protestant, aren't you?" Margot asked. She didn't exactly pin Hermione with a glare but there was an accusation there.

"Yes," she answered and hoped the dip of her head and glance away was enough of a sign of embarrassment.

Margot shifted in her seat slightly to lay her hand on Hermione's in her lap. "Perhaps we'll make a convert out of you yet. I saw August escort you back in. I take it he's shown an interest?" She didn't really seem to need Hermione's affirmative nod as she continued, "I'm glad to see Oswald's closest brother take an interest in someone, finally. He's been alone for as long as I've known him. The two of you would make a good match, I think."

Hermione just smiled and Margot moved the conversation to some other tidbit of gossip.

And on and on it went. Hermione went to Mass with Margot's circle but made sure she did not take communion under Margot's watchful eyes. She went to the theatre with August. And dinner. And the cinema. By the end of the first week of June, August asked Hermione to join him at the Pohl estate for lunch. She'd been nervous and anticipatory leading up to the event until she realised he lived in a smaller cottage nearby not actually in Oswald's home. The smell she'd caught on the breeze last month was stronger here.

August greeted her and led her to the gardens for a tour before the meal. At a stone bench near a trellis of roses, he offered for her to sit. He did not sit beside her, instead, he knelt and Hermione felt a sharp thrill of fear. He clasped her hands in his own. "Madam Gravois... Hermine. I feel like we've learned so much of each other in the last two months. I believe you and I make a good match in that we are outsiders in Margot and Oswald's circle of friends and relations. I know you've felt it, no matter how much Inge tries to include you. It would be the greatest honour if you'd consent to be my wife."

Her mouth went slack with unfettered fear and anxiety. This was not in the plans. She was not getting married! No way! Not now and not to this man!

He smiled at her reaction like he expected it and then gave her a conspiratorial little smile and wink. It didn't make her feel any better. He stood up and sat beside her on the bench, still holding her hands with his. "I believe a confession will make things less terrifying for you, my girl. You would not have to worry about your virtue with me. In fact, once you are ready we can find someone to give you the children you deserve."

Was there something wrong with him? Her eyes darted to his lap before she blinked and looked back at his face, feeling her cheeks grow hot at her presumption.

She worried for the safety of her secrets when he chortled at her expression and answered the question that must have been written on her face. "No, there's nothing... physically wrong with me. I prefer the company of men."

"Oh," she finally responded, feeling at a loss for the appropriate thing to say.

"Exclusively. Though, I feel I need a wife for propriety's sake. Would you at least think about it, Hermine?" He paused and tilted his head minutely to catch her eye. When she met his gaze he squeezed her hands tightly. "I have no doubt that you will be able to keep secret what I've told you, yes?" the threat there was implicit but felt very real nonetheless.

"Of course, I'd never tell anyone such a personal confidence." She swallowed and continued, feeling a little more stable with the threat and with his allowance for a little time to think about her answer. "I am flattered and moved at your offer and though I am young and of marrying age I do feel I need to think—pray on it. It's an important decision after all."

"Yes, I believe it's worth weighted consideration. Please, I didn't mean to upset you or worry you. Let us enjoy each other's company for lunch and you can pray on your decision in the privacy of your rooms."

She smiled and when he stood and helped her up as well, he didn't let go of her hand. She was trembling.

* . * . *

**9 June 1944**

Hermione thought about August's marriage proposal for three days before she made a decision. She was still terrified but she'd come to the conclusion that most likely, there would be an engagement period she could negotiate and during that time it would only be proper for Margot and Oswald to host them in their home for a party of some sort to share the news. Accepting August's proposal would get her closer to her mark and the end of her assignment here. She could just disappear after she gathered the proper information regarding the labour camp.

She practised smiling in the mirror, worried her true feelings would come through on her face. When it felt as practised as she expected it to get, she accepted August's calling card to join him for dinner at his home. Once there, he was as proper as ever, escorting her to the table and making her feel as comfortable as she ever was around him. Which is to say, not all that much.

"Am I to take your acceptance of dinner as acceptance of my proposal, my love?" he asked.

Hermione gave him that practised smile and said, "Yes, August, I accept your proposal. I will be your wife."

"Wonderful. I have something for you," he said and slipped something from his inner jacket pocket. He knelt at her feet again at the dinner chair and offered up his gift. It was a beautiful gold charm for her bracelet in the shape of a lion with tiny red stones as eyes. "I know rings are more traditional but I thought this suited you more."

"It's beautiful, August," she said. She removed her bracelet so she could attach the charm. After she clasped it on her wrist he took her hand. She had to swallow her nerves again. She couldn't believe she was doing this. He was gracious enough to realise she was overcome with emotion, even if it wasn't elation as a normal bride-to-be would be, and returned to his seat after placing a gentle kiss on her cheek. Dinner continued on as it normally would and instead of taking her through a walk through the garden to end the evening, he asked if she would accompany him on a walk to the main house to share their news with Oswald and Margot. She agreed and they set out on the comfortably warm June evening to the main house.

The breeze was heavy and the smell was worse. She wrinkled her nose involuntarily. The odour was awful tonight and she still hadn't identified what it was. Before they reached the main house, August spoke softly, "I'd apologise for the stench but it's not my mess. Oswald's _projects..._ have done very well. However, if I'd have chosen a home it would have been a bit further away. Thankfully we don't have to visit often to oversee the work. The scent of death there is overpowering, at least here the breeze will take it away within moments."

Hermione felt sick. How much death was happening that they could smell it on the breeze? August didn't seem to notice that she paled but he didn't say anything else about it. He knocked at the door and a servant greeted them. He led them to a small parlour where Oswald and Margot were seated and waiting on them. Oswald stood when they entered the room but didn't move to greet her.

"Brother, Margot, I'd like to introduce my fiancée."

Margot looked like a cat who got the canary and the cream, pride of her matchmaking skills evident on her face.

"Congratulations August, Madam Gravois," Oswald said. He gestured for them to join them and went to open a decanter. He offered them brandy in celebration. It made Hermione's eyes water but she took a sip anyway and let Margot led the conversation.

Hermione's ploy had worked. Margot insisted Hermione join her the following week on one of the days Oswald and August were set to go inspect Oswald's projects to decide on details for the wedding.

She arrived at the predetermined time and sat with Margot as she decided most of the details. She did ask Hermione's input every once in a while but as she was the older of the two and the one with the most resources, she was in charge.

After a while, Hermione decided it was her moment and asked for the powder room. She stepped out of the room and, as she'd done in France with Antoine, she doubled back and sent a stunning spell at Margot who slumped against the back of the loveseat she'd been perched on. Hermione turned and headed directly for Oswald's study, where she'd seen the men leaving when she'd arrived. She had to be more careful as there was at least one servant here but a quick non-verbal spell unlocked the room and she slipped inside. She was methodical about her approach and didn't leave anything behind. Every drawer and cupboard and filing cabinet was opened, the contents duplicated, and the originals returned before she continued onto the next. The enormous stack of papers was easily hidden in the Undetectable Extension pocket of her small purse.

Tucked away in the last locked drawer was something strange. A long golden chain with a pendant of three circles, two of which spun in opposite ways. In the centre was a tiny hourglass with sand in it. She was shocked at the familiarity she felt with the object in her palm. This was a time turner. How devastating would it be for the Allied if a general of the Axis powers got hold of this? She tucked it in her purse as well but there was a noise in the hall, a door opening and hurried footsteps. She didn't have time to make sure the necklace was tucked into the pocket. Rather she spent the few seconds she had to replace everything else and lock the drawer. She looked around and spun on her toe, concentrating on the powder room she'd been to on her last visit. With a slight pop, she appeared in the powder room just as someone knocked on the door.

"Madam Gravois?" the servant said. Hermione opened the door to the nervous-looking, plump woman. "I'm sorry but Madam Pohl will not be able to continue with this visit. She's taken ill. I do so apologise."

"That's all right, I hope she's feeling better soon."

"I'll see you out, Madam."

* . * . *

**12 June 1944**

Three days later, Inge called on Hermione for a visit in the early afternoon. She was visibly nervous but dismissed Hermione's concern. "It was supposed to be a surprise party, Mina," she said. "I'm just too excited for you, that's all."

Hermione grabbed her purse and they got in the pretentious horse-drawn carriage the Pohls tended to use that would take them to the Pohl estate. The day was beautiful and warm and the hour-long ride there was scenic once they got out of the city proper. Inge relaxed considerably once they were on the way.

"All our friends are there already, getting everything set up just right," Inge said, smiling, sharing her enthusiasm. She then went on to gossip about some of the less frequent guests of Margot and Oswald. Hermione was content to just smile and nod and contribute only as she had to, which was normal for their conversations. As the driver brought the carriage to the doors Inge insisted Hermione get out first and hurried her out quickly. Hermione's purse slipped to the floor in the rush. "Oh," Inge said, as she picked it up. She tipped it in her hand as she handed it to Hermione and the time turner necklace slipped out. "What is this?" Inge asked, setting the purse down on the seat and picking up the long golden chain.

Inge looked down at the artefact as she slipped from the carriage to stand in front of her. "Mina? This is the Devil's work, isn't it?"

Margot's authoritative voice called out sharply from directly behind Hermione like she'd been waiting. "What's the Devil's work, Inge?"

The younger woman held up the time turner by the chain, except it wasn't a time turner, it was a small golden pentagram. Margot sucked in a scared breath. "Blasphemy! Witch! Grab her!" Hermione's arms were grabbed from behind and she was too stunned to struggle at first.

"What? No, I don't know what you're talking about! That's not mine!" Hermione said as soon as she could. She was being manhandled roughly and she turned her head as much as she could to see the carriage driver was the one holding her wrists in an iron grip. He was a barrel-chested man and her struggling weight didn't seem to affect him at all. He jerked her backwards and she couldn't get her feet under her. He dragged her.

Hermione glanced back around to try and figure out who the best person to appeal to would be. Margot, the devout Catholic, who was shouting, "Witch!" or Inge, the impressionable gossip that all but worshipped Margot?

Shouts of "Burn her!" and "Stone her!" flooded her brain with fear even as she caught a glimpse of what the driver was dragging her towards. In the centre of the lawn on the side of the Pohl's house, in sight of August's cottage, was a raised platform with a stake in the middle of it. Most of the circle had gathered there. Not just the women, either. Both Hugo and Sigrid Schulz, Hans and Gertrude Richter, Olga and her sister Agnes and her husband Ludwig. They were all there, chanting and surrounding the stake, holding flickering torches.

"No, no!" Hermione shouted again, even as Hugo and Hans helped the driver haul her up the platform and began tying her to the stake with foul-smelling ropes. They'd been soaked in accelerant. She started to pant in fear. Her vision swam as she inhaled the fumes from the ropes. This couldn't be happening. Her usual quick mind was stunned. She couldn't get to her wand where it was tucked into her skirt. "Please, stop!" she tried to shout, to argue, but she was out of breath from the panic. "It's not mine!" Her words came out reedy and weak.

"Not yours?" Margot called at last. The others quieted. The men who had tied her to the stake stepped down and off the platform and took the torches from their wives. "Is this purse not yours?" She held up Hermione's purse with the entire copied contents of Pohl's study tucked away in the pocket. Wrapped around it was the long golden chain and the pentagram pendant. "Inge saw this pendant, this symbol of witchcraft in your possession! Do not deny what you are, witch!" She flung the purse at the platform where it landed at Hermione's feet.

Shouts went up again and the men holding the torches looked to Margot. She nodded, giving them permission, and they stepped forward as one to ignite the wood pile.

Hermione could feel the heat already even as she shouted again in vain, nonsensical words because her brain just couldn't comprehend what they were doing to her. This could not be happening. She'd learned the Fire-Freezing Spell in History of Magic, she knew she had, but as the fire below started to lick at her ankles she couldn't remember it.

Her lips trembled and tears slipped down her cheeks and she was going to die and she couldn't remember the spell and they were all shouting and there was a loud CRACK and screaming and—

She opened her eyes. She was still tied to the stake, still smelt the accelerant on the ropes binding her, but the fire below her was gone. In its place was a scorch mark across the grass in a wide circle. She licked her dry lips and looked around for all the people. It took her a moment before she sucked in a sharp breath, her mouth fell open at what surrounded her.

In the wide circle of scorched earth, bodies were strewn as if flung by a great force. Burnt and crispy, with bits of ash blowing towards her in the breeze. Beyond the black marks were what looked liked chunks of human flesh littered through the brilliant green grass.

It looked like a bomb had detonated directly where she stood. Had she done this? Had she killed all of them? "Oh, Merlin. Oh, God. What have I...?" She looked out at the carnage with tears slipping down her cheeks again. She swallowed against her dry throat. She had to get out. Had to leave. August and Oswald Pohl hadn't been among the mob. They would find her if she lingered any longer.

In the overwhelming silence, she twisted in her ropes and was able to shimmy her hand free. She grabbed her wand and untied herself. She collapsed onto the platform like she'd been tied there for hours. The platform partially crumbled underneath her. If it had burned hot once she could not feel heat from it now. What was left of the boards were cool, barely warmed by the summer's sun. Black soot covered everything and soon her hands and knees were covered with it. She stood and stumbled but was able to climb off the pyre. She tried not to look around at what had been people. She dropped to her knees past the blast zone and vomited.

She looked back. Every part of the platform and stake were burnt, white-grey ashes and black, cold embers, except for where she had stood. That part was pristine. It made no sense. She didn't know what happened. Had her panic caused accidental magic that saved her life? Had her magic been so vicious as to _kill_ everyone else? She couldn't leave the evidence of this. She pointed her wand at the structure and watched the tip with fascination as it danced in her trembling hand. After several seconds she refocused her attention and vanished the entire platform.

She had to force herself to search through the mess of blood and flesh and ash but she couldn't find her purse; all the evidence she'd gathered was gone. She could go back into the house and duplicate it again. She started walking towards the house, knowing she needed to leave soon. Before she got all the way to the door she heard the unmistakable rumble of an automobile engine and the crunch of gravel in the drive. She was out of time.

Even though she felt unstable she took a deep breath and focused as much as she could. She Apparated into the locked study. Instead of bothering with trying to duplicate everything again, she cast unlocking spells at everything she'd previously found locked and summoned every paper within. The stack was thick and she grabbed a briefcase leaning against the leg of the desk. She stuffed them all in there and froze as she heard men's shoes echoing on the wooden floor just outside the door.

"Margot? Are you in here?" Oswald asked. His tone held confusion but not suspicion or worry. Hermione gasped and spun on her toes, focusing on her rooms at the hotel where she'd been staying. She had to get out of the city.


	10. Chapter 10

**14 June 1944**

Hermione used a Point-Me spell to find her sister after she left Linz. It wasn't until she walked the last mile into the army base dressed in her expensive, upper-class operative clothes covered in black soot and ash that she was even really aware of herself or the world around her. It was dark and quiet the way most places got in the hours before dawn.

"Ma'am? Can I help you?" a soldier said in German. She blinked at him and a low-level nugget of fear at the base of her throat kept her from speaking. He switched to French and then English.

She opened her mouth, her bottom lip trembling, and instead of Peggy's name, a small scared sob slipped out. The soldier, a thin man who was probably younger than she was, held her shoulders tight and nodded like he understood. Like her reaction was something he could relate to. This was war. They'd both seen unmistakable horror and tragedy. She swallowed and tried again, "Carter? Agent Carter? Is she here?"

"Yes, ma'am, she is. I can take you to her tent but I'm going to need your name."

She felt her lips twitch like she had intended to give him a grin but he didn't smile back so she doubted her face was behaving the way she wanted it. "Carter," she answered again.

He blinked and squeezed at her shoulders. "Yes, ma'am, I'll take you to her but..."

She shook her head and tried again. "My name's Mildred Carter. She's my sister."

Understanding lit his features and he turned, pulling her into his side and escorting her through the city of tents to one at the centre but set apart. He scratched at the fabric and called out softly, "Agent Carter? Are you awake? You've got a guest who seems like she needs you."

There was rustling inside before they heard Peggy respond. She sounded no-nonsense despite having been woken up. "If it's Dum Dum in drag again I might shoot you." She pulled the flap back and her angry glare dropped away as soon as she got a glimpse of Hermione. "Millie! My God, what's happened to you?" She reached out and grabbed for her arm and the soldier helped guide her into Peggy's arms. Peggy wrapped her arms around Hermione and pulled her into the tent. She was making a shushing sound, saying soft calming things like she would if someone was crying. She took a deep breath because she felt like she'd run out of air and another sob slipped from her. Peggy guided her to sit on her cot, all the while brushing stray strands of hair out of Hermione's face. As she cried, Peggy cleaned her up; wiping the tears and soot and snot from her face, the soot and ash from her hands and arms. She even knelt and wiped at her knees and legs. When Hermione was relatively cleaner than she was, Peggy sat beside her and held her, rocking her in her arms like she might a child. She hadn't ever really needed this sort of comforting as a child but it felt nice to be held and cared for.

Finally, she cried herself out. When she was quiet, Peggy spoke. "Are you hurt anywhere, darling?"

"No. I don't think so," she answered. She looked down at her hands and flipped them palms up. Besides the dirt and grit they looked just as normal as they had before. Not like there was blood from a dozen people on them. Not like the hands of the killer she knew she was.

"What happened? Were you on assignment?"

"I killed someone," she whispered, feeling her bottom lip trembling again. She swallowed and looked up at her sister. "A woman. She wasn't a Nazi," she confessed. She couldn't admit to a dozen murders without the deed coming back to her but Inge had been her friend, despite the lies and the subterfuge. It was her death that weighed the most on Hermione's shoulders.

Peggy's lips pursed but the look she gave Hermione wasn't pity or admonishment, there was sympathy. "None of us are as innocent as we were, Millie. You wouldn't have done something like that if your own life hadn't been on the line. I know you. You're devastated. That means it wasn't malicious; you don't delight in the awful acts we have to commit in the name of war." She leaned close and pressed her lips to Hermione's forehead. "Were you on assignment?"

Hermione nodded.

"Can't talk about it, then, huh?"

She shook her head.

Peggy squeezed her in a hug before pulling back and looking her over. "You don't have anything with you?" Hermione shook her head, she had the briefcase she'd stolen from Pohl but other than that she had nothing. "Here, use the rest of this bit of water to wash up while I get you a change of my own clothes. I'll put in a request for more things for both of us tomorrow."

"I can't stay. I have to get back to London."

Peggy nodded. "Still, you need a second change of clothes. You look like a socialite. As much as I'd like to think otherwise these men haven't seen women outside of nurses or women in uniform in a long while. I don't want them thinking they can accost you."

"After the first one winds up in medical with a bloody nose, they might think differently."

Peggy gave her a doubtful look.

"Testicular torsion?"

They met each other's gaze and there was a pause before they giggled. "That might stop them. No, if you're in uniform it's much less likely that it'll come to that. We don't need you damaging abled bodied soldiers if you don't have to." Hermione stood and stumbled a little. "When was the last time you ate?"

Hermione thought while she disrobed. She'd left Linz via Apparition as night was falling, back to the little German city Passau where she'd first landed for this assignment. She'd been walking a long time before her spell had even locked on to Peggy's location. "Where are we?"

"About 82 kilometres west of Prague."

Hermione tried to guess the distance between that little German town and Prague. She blinked and turned to her sister. "I... I don't know. I've been walking for a while. Hours? Days?" She shook her head and immediately regretted it when her eyesight went spotty black. "It's all a blur."

"Well, finish up. We'll go to the mess and get you something. They'll be starting breakfast for the men soon," Peggy said as she laid out all the needed items of her uniform for both of them. "And then maybe I'll send you back to bed in here. You're not in any state to be heading back to England like you are. Do we need to get a message to your contact to say you're safely on the way back from an assignment?"

"No, they sort of just expect me to get in touch with them. Showing up with my intel in hand is even better."

Hermione finished washing as best she could in the cool water and redressed in Peggy's uniform. The trousers and sleeves were a touch too long but otherwise, they were of similar enough shape that she wasn't too far past regulation. She followed Peggy through the camp to the mess and was given food. She assumed Captain Rogers and the rest of the team were around but she didn't see them. After breakfast, she returned to Peggy's tent and collapsed into sleep. She woke up once in need of relieving herself and found another meal waiting for her. She handled her business, ate and slept again.

When Peggy retired to her tent that evening, Hermione was just waking up. "I was wondering how long you'd sleep," she said as she started undressing for bed. "The boys are back; if you're interested. Something happened to Sergeant Barnes's and Brigadier Falsworth's packs, though, and they lost their tent. Falworth is bunking with a private from a different unit but Barnes is in Captain Rogers's tent for the night."

"Are you kicking me out?" Hermione asked, smiling. It seemed food, sleep, and her sister was enough to restore some of her spirits. She wasn't completely unaffected by what had happened and what she'd done but she didn't feel completely consumed by it.

"Only if you want to be kicked out." Peggy tossed a condom package onto the bed where Hermione was sitting. "Be safe, have fun, and don't get caught." They both snickered again.

Under the cover of darkness, Hermione crept out of Peggy's tent and skirted the tent city until she spotted the pup tent that Peggy had described to her: a red, white, and blue ribbon tied to the front flap. She paused outside and listened and when she didn't hear anything she scratched at the fabric. "Bucky?" she whispered.

A half mumbled, "Wha?" was her answer. She pulled the tent flap back just enough to peek inside. Bucky's messy hair partially clung to his confused, sleepy face but once he registered who she was, he smiled back brightly at her. "Millie!" he said, probably too loudly. She slipped inside and let the tent flap drop, returning the small space to darkness. "Button it up behind you," he whispered. She made quick work of the buttons on the flaps to give them the illusion of privacy and then crawled up Bucky's cot to straddle his lap.

She leaned down and whispered, "Hey, look, we've got a bed."

His breath huffed out of him in a silent laugh. "It sure looks that way, doesn't it? Now, what was it we were going to do if we ever got around to finding a bed?" He asked as he licked his lips. He gave her a wicked grin before he leaned up to kiss her.

* . * . *

Hermione was halfway back to Peggy's tent when she heard a stern, "Agent Carter." She wiped at her eyes and the traitorous tears there and hoped the man who just called her name wouldn't notice her emotional state.

"Yes, Colonel?" She turned to face Colonel Phillips.

He was speaking before he recognised who she was. "I didn't just see what I think I saw, did I? Oh, uh, wrong Carter." He narrowed his eyes at her and took a step in her direction. He turned and glanced back at the tent she'd just come from. He pinned her with a fatherly look. "You and Rogers aren't...?"

"Oh, no, sir. Captain Rogers and my sister can continue making moon-eyes at one another for however long they want."

"Then who..." His eyebrows furrowed and he half turned his head to look at the tent again as he thought then he looked back at her. "Barnes?"

She smiled as innocently as she felt she could. It felt stiff and broken but it must have come across fine. Well practised, maybe.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine, whatever. Agent Carter had me send a message to your office to report your location. You're to report back to London within two weeks. It looks like the tactical team is headed that direction as well. You're welcome to travel with them."

She pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling. She didn't think she could handle being in close proximity with Bucky for that long, not after what had just happened. Not after what she'd said. So she lied. "Thank you, sir, but I've already made plans and set my route. I don't want to tax the rations any more than I have already."

He nodded and turned to walk away but paused and glanced back at her, giving her a once over. "You didn't do anything that would compromise my soldiers, did you?"

"All I did was give Sergeant Barnes something to help him sleep, sir."

He scowled. "You stay clear of my boys, Agent Carter," he said but waved his hand at her like he was dismissing the comment all the same.

"Of course, sir." He nodded again and headed back towards his own tent.

Hermione hastened towards Peggy's. She listened quietly at the flap to make sure her sister was asleep before she stepped in. In the dark, she sat down and emptied the briefcase she'd arrived with. She Transfigured it into something more suitable for clothes and added a pocket with an Undetectable Extension Charm. She hid the papers she'd stolen in the pocket, then tucked her clothes in the case. She cleaned herself up with a spell, altered the uniform she was wearing to fit her better and then found a scrap piece of paper and left a short note to Peggy saying she loved her. When she left, she used one last spell to button Peggy's tent flap closed for her privacy.

As Hermione walked out of camp she didn't bother wiping the tears from her eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

**10 July 1944**

Hermione licked at her painfully dry and cracked lips as she dug around in her small potions kit. After dropping empty bottle after empty bottle back in, she finally started dropping each empty vial on the small empty space next to her thigh and the broken concrete shielding her. Exposure wasn't high on her list of worries at the moment.

Empty, empty, empty.

With each dropped vial, Hermione's spirits dropped even lower. She was so frustrated and angry. Who the hell had bombed the damn city? Her hands shook and she leaned forward to try to see better into her kit. Rock and dust exploded next to her head as someone either shot at or cast a spell at her. Hermione jerked back and gasped, trying to calm herself. She'd learned the hard way that it didn't matter. Spell or bullet, it hurt all the same. The burned gouge on her calf twinged as a reminder.

Focus.

She needed to find something liquid; just something to wet her mouth. She was so thirsty. Her canteen was gone. Her wand was snapped. She remembered tossing wands into a fire six months ago. They'd been ill-fitting and tainted with Dark Magic but she was wishing she'd kept at least one for back-up now.

Finally, her hand pulled out the last bottle. She pulled it close to her chest. She frowned; she'd forgotten she'd made this. It was a beautiful luminescent blue. She didn't actually know what it would do, it was completely experimental.

She opened her mouth and licked her lips again, debating with herself. Did she dare? She'd already emptied every other vial and bottle she'd owned. She'd drained every drop from the Invigoration Draught, the Common Poisons Antidotes, she'd even drunk the Sleeping Draught and forced herself to stay awake until it's effectiveness was over. The Wound-Cleaning Potion and Dittany she had emptied onto her leg and the cut over her eyebrow. There wasn't anything left but this.

* . * . *

_**7 July 1944** _

_Hermione had spent the last three weeks moving through France connecting with French Resistance and sabotaging the occupying German army. She was making a name for herself because she was good at not being caught. She didn't let on that she was using Silencing and Disillusionment Charms frequently but it got her closer than her allies could and it allowed her to plant bombs. She had yet to see International Aurors or Obliviation Teams and she wondered if any of what they'd been told at Hogwarts was true._

_She'd heard that the Allied Armed Forces had invaded the French coast at Normandy and she and her group had moved into Caen to help demoralise the German army there. Hermione and Colette, a tiny woman with brown hair cropped short like a man's, were in an abandoned building on the north side of the city hunkered down for the night. The Germans were giving the Allied troops on the outside of the city one hell of a fight and had been for almost a month._

_The droning of incoming aeroplanes woke Hermione out of a dead sleep and before she could even warn Colette, explosions shook the building. The terrifying sound of cracking and crumbling wood and concrete blended in with the droning and the sound of artillery. Screaming soon accompanied all of it._

_Hermione had been lucky in that the building hadn't collapsed on her. The same could not be said for poor Colette. "Hang on!" Hermione shouted, pulling out her wand to try and levitate the heavy blocks of concrete from her friend._

_Colette continued to scream in pain and fear as Hermione tried to move debris as quickly as she could._

_She worried about exposure even as she worked; she couldn't let her friend just stay trapped. The droning was increasing again, whoever was bombing the city had a second wave coming in. The unstable ledge she was on rocked as the earth shook again. By the time she finally got most of the debris off of Collette, the other girl had gone silent. Another bomb detonated close enough to shake the foundations of their collapsed building and Hermione fell and screamed as part of the roof landed across her stomach._

_She was able to get the heavy chunk of ceiling and roof off of her and she crawled towards Colette, shouting her friend's name. The aeroplanes let loose a volley of machine gun spray and Hermione instinctively flinched and drew in on herself. She couldn't tell where the strafing was coming from nor where it was landing. She stayed tucked into herself for several long minutes as the gunfire continued. When it stopped she started working her way to Colette again._

_"Colette, hang on!" she shouted again and was relieved to hear herself better. The planes were heading away and the droning was starting to fade._

_Even with her wand, Hermione had trouble digging through the rubble to get to her friend. When she got to the bottom of the pile her heart thudded painfully in her chest. There was blood everywhere; it mixed with concrete and dust to create a nasty pink paste. Colette's leg had been crushed and when Hermione had moved some of the debris, she must have exsanguinated._

_Their supplies were trashed, buried under so much rubble that Hermione didn't even know where to start looking. She had her potions kit, which had been a small bag tucked in her belt, her canteen, also from her belt, and her wand. She didn't have her pistol or ammunition. She took Colette's before she stumbled from the wreckage._

_She felt winded and had trouble breathing. She paused to catch her breath and pressed lightly against her lower ribs. She winced. Broken, maybe? She didn't know. She leaned against the crumbled walls as she moved through the destroyed city. Who the hell had bombed them?_

_There was screaming and crying from all around and from where Hermione was resting all she could see was burning, broken buildings. The only reason she and Colette had even picked this particular building was that it was in a heavy civilian area. She stumbled her way through the desolation, stunned just as much as all the others. She'd never really gone outside after the all-clear sirens during the Blitz but as she walked and tripped down uneven rubble she knew that she would have seen scenes similar to this. Fear and pain and grief were universal._

_She could hear shouting in French and she continued to shuffle along. It was when she heard shouts in German that some of the shock started to wear off. She turned to go in the other direction, worried about being approached by those soldiers even if they were offering aid. Then she heard a few defensive spells being cast. They were being shouted by high-pitched voices that sounded like children and she couldn't help but turn and run in their direction. She crouched low near a wall and peeked around to try and find the source of the spells. She caught the recognisable sickly-green of a Killing Curse land against the bottom of a wall several yards to her right. The spell kicked up dust._

_She saw what looked like a young woman, perhaps an older teenager, shifting behind the wall. There was a little boy, a toddler, tucked under her arm. The girl leaned around the edge of the wall and shouted another spell in the direction from which the Killing Curse had come. The girl pushed at the little boy and pointed in a direction and the boy attempted to run the distance to the place she had pointed. The girl cast another and another, but they weren't hitting her targets. There was another flash of green a yard in front of the boy which startled him into falling on his nappied bum. He sat there and started to cry._

_Men's laughter followed. Hermione had seen enough. She stepped out of her hiding place and sent her own volley of offensive spells in the direction of the laughter. The girl saw her and shouted at the little boy to get up before she followed as well, seeing the cover Hermione was giving her. The girl ran, scooped up the boy, and toted him as quickly as she could towards the next spot of cover. It was only from the change in position that Hermione saw the legs of another person laying out past the wall. The girl and boy had had someone else with them who hadn't had the fortune of having cover._

_Offensive spells came back at Hermione and she ducked and hid back in the original place the girl and boy had been. She had a better line of sight to see the teenage boy who hadn't made it. She could also see the girl and boy fleeing farther away. Twilight had settled and the approaching darkness would help hide them._

_Moving to this position had been a bad idea. She had sacrificed her tactical advantage to help the children get away. She pulled out her pistol and the next time she leaned around the edge she cast and shot at the same time. Her bullet missed but her spell hit and one of the men went down with a scream. Angry German shouts followed along with rapid gunfire that she couldn't hope to defend against.  
_

_"Shit," she muttered to herself, panting. Crouched over as she was wasn't doing her ribs any good but she couldn't do much to fix it at the moment. The soldiers paused in their fire and she took the time to lean out and cast again. "Bombarda!" She aimed at where she'd seen one of the men but at the last second she tilted her wand up because he'd moved. The wall and part of the ceiling they were taking cover under exploded in a rain of splinters and dust. She was rewarded with German curses as they had to duck from the debris she'd knocked loose. She smiled to herself and cast another in distraction. An upthrust of her wand at the ground between her and the Germans had a wall of fire flaring up. She immediately aimed a high powered Water-Making Spell that caused the fire to outen with an intense white cloud of smoke. She ran from her hiding place, shooting through the smoke as she did._

_She felt the hook of a Tripping Jinx on her ankle even as at least one of them returned fire. She hit the ground hard and rolled onto her back, casting a Banishing Charm towards the wall in the direction of her feet. Her body slid across the rock-strewn rubble head-first away from where she'd pointed her wand. She raised her left hand to try and protect her head but she'd missed the angle slightly and her head hit a rock. She didn't let that stop her and she rolled again and climbed to her feet. She didn't get very far. She ducked into a still-standing corner two buildings away when bullets or curses kicked up dust at her heels._

_She panted and reached down to her canteen; she needed a bit of water. All the concrete dust and dirt in the bombed out buildings was making her thirsty. She whimpered and stared in shock at her canteen. There was a hole in one side and the back furled out where a bullet had passed through. There wasn't any water left to drink. She tipped the metal canteen up to her lips at the bullet hole, the few drops at least wet her lips. She tossed it aside and reloaded her pistol._

_Dark had fallen completely but the full moon had been the night before so Hermione had some moonlight to see by. Some of the nearby homes and buildings were also still burning. She listened as she hid. Fire licked up the walls of the nearby wooden structures. Wood turned to charred embers and cracked and collapsed. German and French shouts went up every so often. There was heavy gunfire in the distance. Hermione hadn't moved in a while and her legs and ribs were on fire from staying crouched in the corner. She shifted and bullets landed near her and kicked up debris on the other side of her cover. She dug through the potions kit at her waist and pulled out a vial of Invigoration Draught. She drank it and tucked the vial back into her kit._

_She looked around, desperate for anything she could use to her advantage. She didn't know how many men had followed her. If she went through the building rather than back out onto the road, she might be able to slip away. The moonlight was just as helpful to her enemies as it was to her. She licked her lips and cast a Disillusionment Charm and Silencing Charm at her feet. She mapped out her path and moved slowly, hoping her hiding spot wasn't being watched carefully._

_She got through the maze of half-walls and rubble but had to climb over the back wall. She slipped at the top and jumped so she wouldn't fall. Dust and rubble shifted. It didn't cover the groan that forced itself from her mouth with the pain from her ribs. She heard German and started to run again._

_The next time she found a corner alcove to hide in, it was smaller than the previous one. She was struck with something in the calf that burned sharply. She collapsed forward. Then she heard the most devastating sound she'd heard all night. Wood snapping. "No, no, no," she mumbled as she crawled into the hiding spot. As she rolled herself into the tiny bit of cover she stared in horror at the broken half of wand still in her hand. The Disillusionment and Silencing Charms had faded when she'd started to run and they'd spotted her and now she didn't even have her magic to protect her. She leaned out and let off a few rounds with her pistol but didn't hit anything. She had to conserve what little ammunition she had left._

_She turned to get a look at her leg and the deep burning gouge in her calf. She dug through her potions kit again for antiseptic and Dittany. The wound was deep and the tiny amount of Dittany she had didn't heal much of the wound but it did slack the bleeding._

_Hermione waited. The gunfire she'd heard earlier in the night sounded like it was further away and she wanted to curse. She tried to get a glimpse of the sky but moving from her alcove got her spells or bullets. In the aftermath of the bombing and then running from these Germans, she had got turned around. She couldn't even use the stars to determine if she'd run further into German-held territory or towards the incoming Allies._

_As dawn broke and the sky lit up with pinks and oranges, white and black smoke clouds billowed up against it. There was still gunfire in the distance and she was still pinned. Every so often the Germans who had her cornered reminded her of the fact. As she returned fire with a few shots and started digging around in her potions kit, she wondered how soon they would realise that her wand was broken._

* . * . *

**10 July 1944**

Three days. It had been about three days since Caen had been bombed. Hermione's head jerked back as she stopped herself from falling asleep. Three days and everything she'd had that was even remotely wet had been drunk.

Except.

Except for this iridescent blue, experimental potion she had created on a random whim on her only trip to the United States. Unsanctioned and definitely illegal. Possibly deadly.

The Germans had finally cottoned on that she'd lost her wand about six hours ago and had started calling out taunts and slurs since. She'd run out of ammunition. She was hurting and exhausted and on the verge of surrender. The wound in her calf had started to swell and she doubted she could even put weight on the leg now. Her head ached from dehydration and the collapsed roof they'd brought down. The late afternoon sun beat down on her, overheating her. She wasn't even sweating anymore and she knew that was bad. Even her eyes felt gritty.

She swallowed dryly and listened as the Germans called out in heavily accented English. "Give up, girl! You've lost!" Slurs against her sex in German and laughter followed. Her bottom lip trembled and she wished she had the water in her body to cry; she was so scared.

The firefight had increased and it was loud all around her but she hadn't seen anyone else. She'd figured out that the Allies had pushed into the city and at one point she thought she'd heard cheers and applause. She was still trapped and she didn't know if she could hold out until the Allies stumbled across her. They'd have to clear the city of Germans, right?

She heard slow, approaching footsteps and whimpered. She started panting, on the edge of hyperventilating. The blue potion sloshed in her trembling hands. In an act of desperation, she uncorked the bottle and tipped it back, swallowing it down in three large gulps. There was a single moment of anticipation as she wondered what it would do.

She threw her head back and screamed long and loud. Everything burned.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning. This one hurts, you guys.

**28 January 1945**

Bucky paced a short distance from the tent he shared with Steve. He and Monty had got new shelter-halves but he'd continued to bunk with his best friend. Steve hadn't complained. In fact, he hadn't even said a word about Bucky having sex Millie in their tent and that had been seven months ago.

They hadn't seen Millie since. Bucky tried not to think about why that might have been but every so often an image of her in his mind would catch him off guard. He'd push it away and offer to take watch. Giving himself something important to focus on helped so he wouldn't dwell.

He sighed as he came to the end of his pace line and turned to stomp back the other way. They had just received their newest order and something felt wrong about them. It was only a gut feeling and he didn't have anything to offer to Steve or Phillips to caution them against it. Steve might listen to a gut feeling from Bucky but Colonel Phillips wouldn't.

They'd gained some intel about Arnim Zola.

Bucky felt sick as he thought about that man and the torture he'd suffered at his hands. He'd only been able to put a number to how long he'd suffered afterwards when he was told they'd been prisoners for three weeks before Steve had shown up. With Gabe and Monty's help, he'd been able to narrow down the time frame. He'd been on the isolation ward for eleven days. It had felt like an eternity.

Bucky turned on his heel and retraced his path. His shoulders were tense and he tried to focus his thoughts. How could he explain to Steve why the intel about Zola felt wrong without bringing up the things that mad scientist had done to him? He was on edge and looking for a fight when he heard a commotion coming from the front of the camp. He ignored it and turned again.

It wasn't until he heard, "Bucky!" and "Sarge!" that he turned and stalked in the direction of the commotion. There was a crowd gathering and he weaved his way between some of the men before he came to a stop next to Steve. He didn't realise what he was looking at for a moment. Peggy was walking slowly with someone next to her.

His breath left him in a quiet rush.

The stranger was a woman. At first, he hadn't been able to tell for how thin she was, like every ounce of fat was gone and she might crumple from how wasted away she looked. Her clothes hung off her frame and were a mix of a Nazi's uniform and civilian clothes like she'd stolen pieces from different places. The bits of skin he could see were boney and bruised yellow. Her hair was matted and dirty but she held her head high like she was confident and proud. She was so starved that her eyes looked large in her head; she looked like a child. The only thing that detracted from the confident look she possessed was the thousand-yard-stare of a prisoner of war.

Millie.

They were walking directly towards him and Steve. Peggy slowed them to a stop several feet away and carefully placed her hand around Millie's waist like she was worried she was going to flinch. Peggy leaned close and whispered to Millie, "You don't have to talk to anyone yet. We're just heading to medical." Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Steve nod. Peggy knew Steve would be able to hear her and had probably spoken for his benefit rather than Millie's. It also meant that Bucky shouldn't have heard her. He felt Steve's hand come up and rest heavily on his shoulder. Steve tugged, pulling him away from the women, back into the crowd of soldiers. Bucky didn't stop looking at Millie until the crowd of men swallowed them up and he couldn't see her anymore.

He expected the men to be rowdy and loud but he had either gone deaf or they weren't making a peep. He looked around and blinked, feeling confused and like he'd just woken up. He'd lost time. He'd already been on edge with news about Zola. Zola on a train without the Red Skull, like a baited trap. He was sitting on a downed log, his right side pressed against Steve's and his left pressed closed to Monty like they were trying to keep him upright. Jim and Dernier and Gabe and Dum Dum were all on another log across a small campfire talking quietly. When Bucky looked up, Dum Dum and Dernier were giving him worried, pitying looks. He turned his head to look at Steve.

"How long's she...?" but he didn't know why he was asking Steve. If he had overheard details then Bucky would have too or Steve would have told him.

"I don't know, Buck. I think Phillips is going to debrief her. We just have to wait. I'm sure Peggy will tell us soon." He didn't say Millie would tell them and Bucky knew she wouldn't. If she'd been where he'd been she wouldn't know.

It felt like it took an age before he heard the crunch of leaves under heeled shoes. He knew not to react until one of the others did as if his hearing was still like theirs. Dum Dum looked up and instead of the grinning-idiot smile he usually bestowed upon the woman, it was a worried frown. Bucky wasn't sure he'd ever seen Dum Dum make that face but he appreciated the fact that the team was worried about his girl. After bringing them Christmas dinner and clearing an extraction path over 80 miles for them, she was one of theirs.

He turned around and looked at Peggy. Despite her straight posture, she looked drawn and tired, more vulnerable and scared than he'd ever seen her.

"She's resting. From what she's said... it's been months. She didn't know why it was so cold." Her bottom lip trembled and her brows dipped. Steve held out his hand to her and she went to him, sitting down on the log on his other side and leaning into him. Their little group was far enough away from the other soldiers that Steve didn't think twice about putting his arm around her back. Bucky didn't know if he was supposed to hear her whisper but he did. It tore at his heart. "Someone tortured my baby sister, Steve."

He tried not to let that word consume him. He remembered the way he would focus on his serial number. "Three-two," the helplessness of being strapped down, "five-five," the fire in his veins, "seven-zero," the bright sharp pains and the dull aches, "three-eight" Zola's smug grin and scientific curiosity. He remembered hating that he gave Zola his rank and name, "Sergeant James Barnes." _Congratulations, Sergeant Barnes, you have survived where many others have not. How shall we test my next hypothesis, Sergeant? How does that feel, Sergeant Barnes? Are you awake yet, Barnes? Barnes?_

Bucky blinked and his eyes felt gritty like he'd held them open too long. Dum Dum had replaced Monty next to him. "Barnes," he said softly again, "Bucky, you with us?" Bucky looked over at him and nodded. He glanced around. Twilight had come and gone and they were sitting in the dim light from the low burning campfire. "You were repeating your rank and serial. You're okay, man, you're safe." Bucky licked his dry lips and nodded again. Dum Dum handed him a canteen. He drank from it as he tried to get his bearings. He had lost time again. Dammit.

Steve wasn't next to him anymore. He looked around and realised it was just him and Dum Dum. "Where's everybody?" he asked. His words sounded slurred to his ears.

"We thought you could use the privacy. I think he might have gone with Peggy to get her sister. You okay to talk to her?" Dum Dum asked, swaying close and bumping his shoulder.

He nodded again and took another swig of water. "Yeah, I need to talk to her." He stood up, expecting to feel unsteady on his feet even as he did it, but he didn't. He screwed the cap back on the canteen and handed it to Dum Dum. "Thanks."

"Not a problem, Sarge."

Bucky walked towards the med tent. He could see Steve and Peggy standing outside talking but he couldn't hear their conversation at this distance. As he approached, their voices dropped off, as he expected.

"Sergeant Barnes," Peggy greeted him. She looked better than she had earlier, more in control of herself, less on the verge of tears.

"Agent Carter," he returned. "May I see her?"

Peggy shared a look with Steve before nodding. "Yes." She turned and headed into the large medical tent. Bucky and Steve followed. Millie was in a cordoned off area, her own little room. She wasn't lying on the bed though, she was sitting at the foot of it, causing wrinkles in the perfect hospital corners. She looked up when they all stepped in. Her beautiful, bushy curls had been shorn off; she was sporting a trimmed version of his own haircut. It emphasized how large her eyes looked in her face and the sharpness of her cheekbones. She was dressed in Peggy's uniform. Before, she would have filled it out; now, it hung off her frame. Her wrists under the cuffs were skin and bone. He clenched his fist but pushed away his anger. There was no use getting angry right now; he was impotent to do anything about it.

He bit his lip because he didn't know what to say. He wasn't going to be stupid and ask if she was okay. He could tell she wasn't. He wanted to say so much, apologise for the way things had gone last time they'd seen each other. He wanted to take her into his arms and hold her, rock her, and tell her they'd get better eventually. They would get out and they would be happy, whether it was in the English countryside or back in Brooklyn. He couldn't bring himself to do any of that, say any of that, with Steve and Peggy in the room with them. He wanted to punch whoever it was that decided he needed a chaperone. Finally, hoping it hadn't been as long as it felt, he smirked and hoped falling back to being charming and sweet would work.

He licked his lips and bounced his eyebrows, "Doll, I think you'll make every man envious over how well you wear that hairstyle. And here I thought me, Steve, and Peggy tied for best looking around. You knock us all out of the park, sweetheart."

Her lips quivered and her smile was tremulous. She might have teared up but he'd made her smile and that's all he could ask for at that moment. She reached up and touched the side of her head where her hair was shaved. At first, the touch was gentle but then she moved her fingers down to her neck and pressed her nails into her skin, digging little red lines several inches long. "Hey, now," he said softly, "don't hide." He reached out to touch her hand but she jerked away from him so much the bed rocked. He dropped his hand quickly.

"I'm taking her home tomorrow," Peggy said from behind them. Bucky really wished they'd leave. Millie looked up and met her sister's eyes over his shoulder before looking back down to him. He kept his gaze on her. He wanted to tell her she was still beautiful, that no matter what she'd gone through he saw her. Saw her and still wanted her. She gave him another twitch of her lips that he hoped was a smile.

"That'll be good for you," he said, though the words strangled him. He'd wanted to go home too but Steve had needed him. Maybe she could get started on that dream in the countryside. "Take some time to..." but his words failed him.

"Recover," Steve finished for him. Bucky nodded. "Come on, Bucky, Miss Carter's probably still very tired and we've got plans to work out."

Bucky wanted to punch him. He had things he needed to tell Millie in private, things he hadn't let himself think except as he was starting to fall asleep in his bedroll. Instead, he nodded and stepped back. She broke eye contact first and her shoulders seemed to hunch inward. She reached up to scratch at her neck again. He couldn't help but frown and look back at Steve and Peggy. They both looked concerned and worried. He bit at his lips said, "I'll see you soon, Millie."

She didn't react to him but he didn't really expect her to. He had a feeling she was losing time too. He followed the other two out of the tent and Peggy bid them goodnight. They walked back to their tent for the night but Bucky's thoughts were still on Millie sitting on that bed looking scared and fragile.

* . * . *

**31 January 1945**

It took three days for Peggy and Hermione to get back to London. In the interim, Peggy tried to talk away the silence. It didn't really help. When she was in her oversharing moments, Hermione asked quiet questions about Bucky and the 107th. She learned more about when most of the men were captured at Azzano, Italy and how they were marched almost two-hundred fifty kilometres to the HYDRA base in Kreischberg, Austria. She even shared that according to the classified file from Sergeant Barnes's debriefing that he was tortured for eleven days.

Hermione had known bits and pieces of the story, he'd told her, but at the time she hadn't really understood what he'd meant. Now she did, though she assumed Dr Arnim Zola had a different sort of method than the wizards who'd captured her.

Colonel Phillips and a nurse back on the base had debriefed her but she had to repeat much of her story to her superior when she was back in London. He'd nodded and taken notes and then told her in no uncertain terms that she would be on two months leave and when she returned they'd find something for her to do closer to home, even if that meant going back behind a desk at Bletchley.

"No," she said, "I can get back out there. I'm fine."

"You look like shit, Carter," her superior said. He was an older man, with heavy wrinkles around his mouth from all the scowling he'd done in his life. He'd always expected the best from her. To be desked by him felt like she'd disappointed him greatly. "You need to recover. I can't even imagine, a woman prisoner of war! I'm still shocked you weren't shipped off by rail to somewhere you wouldn't have come back from. And killing your captors with your bare hands? No, you need to talk with the doctors on base and stay home for a while."

Hermione stood up from the chair he'd gestured her to sit in at the beginning of their meeting. She kept her back straight. She clenched her jaw and watched as his gaze shifted to the movement. She wished for her longer hair for the hundredth time, it would have covered the way she jutted her jaw out when she was angry. "I'm great at compartmentalising, sir. I need to get back to helping the war effort. I can't knit." She watched as his lips pursed at her words. "I need to get back out there, sir." He nodded and let his lips push out in a pout like he was thinking. Had she really changed his mind?

There was a loud noise and she jerked back, lost her footing and collapsed in the chair she'd stood from when she'd started to argue. She blinked and looked at him. He was looking at a heavy book on the floor that had just been on his desk. He'd startled her on purpose!

She opened her mouth to point out how unfair that was and he just shook his head at her. "No, Carter. You're on leave. That's final. We'll see how well you are when you come back in two months. You've done a great service in this position and we're appreciative of your work. There's been rather a lot of women who have gone into enemy territory and lost their lives. I'm glad you made it home. You're dismissed."

Hermione blinked. She was frustrated with herself when she realised she had tears in her eyes. She stood and nodded at him before she left his office. She walked absently around the city while the sun was still up, hating the way her hands and feet were numb from the cold before she was ready to return home. The cold made her think of Bucky which added to her unhappiness. She wished things had gone differently between them; she missed him.

She turned for the flat she shared with Peggy and told herself she would stop wallowing and work on getting better. She had a note from the doctor on base so she could up her ration stamps. Maybe she could attempt to learn to cook. Anything to make time before she could get back out on the field. When she was better she'd get to see Bucky again. She'd fix everything between them then.

* . * . *

**04 February 1945**

Hermione was in the flat she shared with Peggy, flipping through a cookbook her mother had given them when they moved into the city. All of the recipes looked either extremely difficult or they didn't have the ingredients readily available. Hermione was already feeling done with learning to cook. This was ridiculous. The lamp she was reading by was turned low and she wished again for her wand to supplement the light. She'd have to go to Diagon Alley eventually to get a replacement. She had wanted to wait until Peggy was back on the continent but it didn't seem like she would be leaving any time soon. Not that Hermione wanted her to leave, she loved having her sister close, she just had a feeling Peggy would try to follow her to the magical-only area of London and it could get them both in a lot of trouble.

She looked around and sighed. She'd been staring into space again, feeling a million miles away. It was too dark to read any longer. She closed the cookbook and set it aside. Hermione brushed her hands over her hair, letting her fingers linger on the shaved sides. If she didn't look like a walking skeleton, the haircut might not look that bad on her, though it was embarrassing that she didn't have womanly curves or longer hair to make herself feel pretty.

The door opened and Hermione turned her head, knowing it was her sister. She stood and moved to return the cookbook to the shelf but stopped and set the book back on the table when she got a look at Peggy's face. Something was wrong.

Peggy's eyebrows were drawn together at the middle and her eyes were red-rimmed like she'd cried or almost cried. "Peggy?"

"Millie," she answered in return as she walked closer and put her hands on Hermione's shoulders. She squeezed gently and then let both hands slip down her arms to hold her hands. Hermione squeezed back in reassurance.

"What's wrong, Pegs?"

Peggy shook her head but it took her a moment to open her mouth. She wet her lips, her lipstick had faded a bit. Looked away and back to meet Hermione's gaze. "The 107th tactical team is back in London."

Hermione could read her sister's behaviour enough to know that something was horribly wrong. "Who?" she asked. Chills shot up her arms and down her back. She hadn't grown particularly close to all of them but each man in the unit had been kind to her. She couldn't imagine losing any of them, Dum Dum or Jim or Gabe.

Peggy's hands squeezed tighter, holding Hermione still. "Sergeant Barnes was killed in action."

Hermione's world stuttered to a stop. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. Tears sprang to her eyes and the vision of her sister in front of her blurred. Her hearing dampened like it would when an air raid bomb detonated close to their shelter. Her heart might have even stopped. It definitely broke.

"No," she whispered. Her head shook and she tried to pull away from Peggy, "No, no, no, not Bucky. You're lying."

"I'm not lying. I'm so sorry, Millie."

Hermione felt her magic surging under her skin before anything happened. A single tear slipped down her cheek before her magic came crashing out of her. Their flat on the third floor exploded outward. The ceiling was demolished, dissolved into the cold night air. The walls were broken rubble, the entire floor collapsed and dropped and both she and Peggy fell with it, sliding along the floorboards with what remained of their furniture to rest in one open corner. There were shouts and cries from the people who had been below them, people on the street who'd seen the building explode. Shouts about undetected bombs came from the street below. A police siren might have echoed in the distance.

Peggy was still next to Hermione but she looked terrified. "Millie? Millie, are you hurt?" Her hands ran up and down Hermione's arms, checked her legs and knees where she was half sitting on the broken boards that had at one point been their floor. "My god, what happened? Did the sirens not go off? How did...?" Peggy looked around and Hermione could see wood chips in her sister's hair. She had a smudge of something black on her cheek and it looked like her knees had taken the brunt of her fall. She was bleeding.

There were four CRACKS and four strangers were standing in the ruined centre of what was left of the flat. One of them Stunned Peggy and she slumped against Hermione's shoulder. The other three Apparated farther out, downstairs and out to the street. The building started to repair itself.

"What the hell happened here?" the remaining member of the Obliviation team asked.

"Accidental magic," Hermione answered blankly without looking up at the man. "My..." she paused, who was Bucky to her? What could she tell this wizard when she wasn't supposed to be mingling with Muggles to begin with? "Someone close to me died." She shook her head, only briefly taking in the destruction around her. "I didn't mean to..." Her gaze dropped from a random bit of wreckage to look at her sister. Peggy could have died. Hermione wondered if she would have levelled all the buildings on the street in a second blast if she'd accidentally killed her sister.

"I'm sorry," the Obliviator said. Hermione looked up at him, surprised to see sincerity in his expression. He nodded at Peggy laying against her. "I need to modify her memory now."

Hermione nodded and watched as the wizard levitated Peggy's body and set her across the foot of the bed. Looking around, the flat had been put back together. She couldn't hear crying or shouting any more. She hoped she hadn't killed anyone when the building collapsed. She stood and walked slowly to sit next to Peggy.

The wizard nodded when he was finished. "Do you have your wand?" Hermione shook her head. "Let's sit her up and I'll revive her, all right? I'll Apparate out as quietly as possible." His words were spoken softly like he understood he was talking to a frightened animal.

Then Peggy, all cleaned up and healed, opened her eyes looking just as worried and concerned as the moment she'd told Hermione the first time. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry," she reached forward and brushed her fingers against Hermione's cheek to wipe away tears that she hadn't known she had shed. Hermione leaned forward to rest her face against her sister's shoulder, sucked in a deep breath and let out her first, heart-wrenching sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *end of part one*


	13. Chapter 13

**19 September 1945**

The Germans surrendered in May and Hermione had watched the celebrations in the streets from their flat windows, too heartsick to participate. Peggy was heartsick now too, as not five days after she'd told Hermione about Bucky being killed in action, Captain Rogers had scuttled an enemy aircraft armed with devastating bombs somewhere in the north Atlantic. He was considered missing in action but it didn't stop Peggy's tears.

Hermione had joined her and the remaining members of the 107th tactical team as they poured a celebratory drink out for their Captain on Victory-in-Europe day. Jacques had looked at Hermione when she hadn't spoken a word all night and offered to toast to Bucky's sacrifice as well. She'd started crying and left, unable to bear the idea of Bucky truly being gone.

Since the victory in Europe, Peggy had shared a bit about what had been in the report of Bucky's last mission. He, Rogers, and Jones had infiltrated a Hydra train and in the scuffle to take control, a hole had been torn into the side of the train car. Bucky had fallen from the train into a several-hundred-foot gorge over a frozen river.

Her nightmares started to feature snow and ice.

The Japanese surrendered at the beginning of September and Hermione begged off joining Peggy and a few of their friends from celebrating the final end of the war. She didn't feel like she had anything worth celebrating.

Their parents had sent them several letters asking for them to come home soon. When Peggy asked if she wanted to go to the country for her birthday to see them Hermione had brushed her off and said she'd go for Christmas but not before. She had combed at her ridiculously short and bushy hair where it fluffed around the top of her ears, hoping to convey how embarrassed she would be for their mother to see her like that.

It wasn't just the hair that she was embarrassed about. Hermione's body was still rail thin. The doctors had continued to tell her to eat as much as she could stand to stomach to try and gain something of her original weight and look. The thing was, she was already at her former weight according to the numbers. She wasn't just thin anymore. Every muscle was tight and hard and heavy. She could probably carry a soldier's pack around all day and not tire. She tried not to disrobe in front of Peggy in case the light was enough that she could tell the difference in Hermione's muscle tone.

Hermione padded her bra and hung extra folded fabric over her suspender belt to try and hide her body before she dressed for the day. It was her birthday and while Peggy was out at work or wherever she went during the day, Hermione was going to go to Diagon Alley and buy a new wand.

She had learned in her captivity that she did not need a wand to cast spells any longer, after the blue potion, but she didn't like doing magic without one; it felt like she was doing something forbidden. She gave herself a once-over in the mirror of their rickety vanity table and made sure the extra fabric wasn't tucked into anything.

She left their flat and strolled along the pavement towards the entrance to Diagon Alley, carefully pausing to admire the pigeons or the trees planted along the pavement to make sure no one was following her. When she came to the Leaky Cauldron she gave one more surreptitious look around before she opened the door to the pub. She didn't linger for a drink but she did approach the barman.

Tom was her age, early twenties, and he'd been in Hufflepuff while she'd been in Gryffindor. He was wiping a rag along the dark wood bar top as he prepared for the lunch crowd. She wondered if it had picked up now that the Muggle government had lifted the restrictions about the blackout and the suggestions of retiring to the country if one was able.

"Can you open the Alley for me?" she asked softly.

"No wand?" Tom asked.

She shook her head, and looked down at her hands, feeling ashamed.

"It happens to the best of us, Millie," he said, setting the bar rag down on the counter before heading to the doors leading to the Alley. He tapped the bricks in the appropriate pattern and gestured for her to head on through.

"Thank you."

"Not a problem."

Once through the archway, Hermione made her way to Gringotts to exchange a few pounds into galleons. The goblins were as prickly as ever and she was glad to be out of the bank and in the rare bit of sunshine. The walk to Ollivanders was short and pleasant but even in that short time, Hermione felt like she could breathe just a bit easier. She didn't have to hide here. She didn't really have to hide on the Muggle side but she always felt one-step away from exposure there. Especially after her captivity with the way her magic rippled under her skin so close to the surfae.

The bell over the door chimed a low, dissonant pitch when she entered the darkened shop. Mr Ollivander was nowhere to be seen but that wasn't unusual. He appeared from an aisle on the far side of the cramped store about a minute later.

"Not a child late for Hogwarts, then," he murmured to himself. Hermione wondered if she was supposed to hear it. "I've already sold you a wand, young lady," he said once he got a look at her. His pale eyes narrowed. "Ten and three-quarters inches, vine wood, dragon heartstring. What happened to it?"

She'd practised this lie in her head three dozen times since she'd returned from the front. "I was holding it when an air raid siren went off. In my rush to get to the shelter below my flat, I tripped and it snapped under me."

His brows dipped and she felt the slightest touch to her mind. She wouldn't have recognised or felt such a thing before but she knew it now and flinched from it. If he saw the memory of her wand breaking, he only got a glimpse of broken wood under her knees. Just as she said. He looked startled for a quick moment before he nodded as if satisfied with her answer. "It might take several tries before we find another wand well-matched, Miss Carter."

"I've got most of the day free, sir, I don't mind."

His lips quirked up and he huffed a light snort. He turned and delved through his shelves of boxes. He pulled five or so from one shelf, turned and picked up another two. He brought them to the counter and opened the box and offered it to her. Hermione could feel the wood start to vibrate away from her hand before she got close enough to touch it. He looked at her like she was an anomaly. She didn't doubt she was now. He set that box aside and tried the next. She was allowed to hold this one but when she attempted to cast a simple wand-lighting spell she almost blinded both of them before she dropped the wand back into the box. "Sorry," she apologised as they both blinked. She reached for the next one and he shook his head.

"No, no, these won't do. I think..." he glanced at her again, his eyebrows dipping before she felt the tentative touch against her mind. She felt a flash of irritation at his attempt to delve into her mind and he reached up and pressed fingers against his temple, his face contorted in sharp pain. "I'm sorry. It's just, I'm not... I'll refrain from trying to read you. It's a habit."

"I'd appreciate that," she answered. She hadn't meant to hurt him. She should stop by Flourish and Blotts to see if they had any books she could purchase about the mind arts.

"We'll try some of the older wands. Something tells me you're going to require the more fickle, more powerful woods or cores." He pulled a slim, light-coloured wand from his waistcoat pocket and resorted the seven boxes he'd brought her. He tucked it away just as quickly as he'd pulled it and headed towards the back of the shop. He returned with a stack of three boxes, thick with dust.

He opened all three and showed them to her. They were all of similar lengths, a little longer than her previous wand. The first was the darkest wood she'd ever seen and the second was a bone white. The third was a warm red tone. "Ebony, good for combative magic and Transfiguration. Elder, unlucky but ultimately the most powerful, and Hazel, which works best for an owner who understands and can manage their emotions well."

Hermione held up her hand over the boxes and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to see if any of the three spoke to her before she touched them. She didn't get any hints so she sighed, opened her eyes, and picked up the Hazel wand first.

It burned her palm. She dropped the wand and jerked her hand back. Ollivander looked curiously at the wand and her hand. She rubbed her hands together. She could feel the hot welt under her fingertips. "Guess not that one," she said to try and clear the ominous air.

"Suppose not."

Before she reached for another she paused. "What cores do they have?"

He raised an expressive eyebrow at her question. She remembered his saying about the wand choosing the witch and she wanted to know what the wood and core combination said about her. "Both were part of an exchange shipment from American wandmakers. The ebony has a core of Rougarou which is said to have an affinity for Dark Magic. The elder's core is Horned Serpent horn, an exceptionally powerful core for an exceptionally powerful wand. Not many could wield such as this. It's sat on my shelves for over a two hundred years, I believe. My grandfather liked to make rare combinations like these but they don't typically choose the normal wizard. The few woods and cores I work with are not only the most stable but also the most common." He raised his eyebrows and gestured to the boxes, seemingly intensely curious as to which wand would choose her.

She picked up the dark one first, nervous for what a wand core that was supposed to have an affinity for Dark Magic would say about her. There was the slightest warmth in her hand but it didn't feel familiar like her previous one had. She set it back down on the stiff pillow that had cradled it. When she picked up the bone white elder wand, heat and familiarity flooded up her arm. The smile on her face was probably the first true one she'd had in over a year.

"Congratulations, Miss Carter, on such an exquisite wand. May it serve you well. That will be twelve galleons," Mr Ollivander said. It was more expensive than her first but she had a feeling it was because of the rarity of its components. She paid and thanked him, tucking the wand into her skirt pocket before she stepped out of the shop.

She directed her steps towards the book shop and she was almost there when two men in the red robes of Aurors fell into step with her, one at her left and one several paces back as if she would run. Before entering the shop she turned to the one beside her. "Is there a problem?"

"You're Mildred Carter, aren't you?" he asked.

"I am."

"I'm Archibald Sprout, I'm an International Auror. We've got a few questions for you."

Hermione felt fear trickle up her spine. What crime was she going to be prosecuted for? She attempted a confident smile despite the dread making her hands and feet turn numb. "Of course, sir."

He pulled a well-worn child's shoe out of his pocket. "Do you mind a Portkey? It will take us directly to the Auror's office in the Ministry of Magic." Dozens of scenarios flitted through her mind. Was this a trap? Was this all some elaborate game of her captors? Was she still back in that dark cell? There was no way to know in the few seconds she had. Trusting her reality and in that of the red Auror robes the two men were wearing, she reached out and touched the delicate leather boot. Sprout nodded and activated the Portkey. The hook behind her navel was unpleasant and she stumbled into his broad chest when they appeared in the International Auror Department. One wall was painted with the Auror seal she'd seen in a book at Hogwarts. Perhaps he was telling the truth. He caught her by the elbow and helped her regain her balance before stepping back. "Sorry about that. It's always a bit unsteady. Here," he gestured to a door to their right, "if you'll just come into my office here I'll explain what this is about."

He followed her in and moved to sit behind the desk as she took a seat in one of the two surprisingly plush armchairs in front of the desk. This didn't look like what she expected an interrogation room would look like. She tipped her chin up and held eye contact with Sprout, determined to not be afraid of her punishment, whatever it turned out to be.

"So we've heard that you were involved with the war effort," Sprout started. She blanched and if he noticed he didn't say anything. "As I'm sure you're aware, in April, Albus Dumbledore defeated Gellert Grindelwald in a duel and imprisoned him. It was a great day for the Wizarding World at large." Hermione had not known this but she didn't give away her ignorance as he continued. "Grindelwald's supporters have scattered to the wind and our intelligence tells us that many of them have hidden amongst hiding Nazis. We're looking for witches and wizards who have experience blending in and working with Muggles to help us apprehend these individuals. Most of them are wanted for breaking the Statute of Secrecy and war crimes." He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a thick brown folder. He dropped it down in front of her. "Are you interested in helping us? You'll be paid for your time and receive a bonus for each acquired target."

She had to blink and look down at the inconspicuous folder in front of her to hide her shock. When she looked back up she asked, "Will I be prosecuted for involving myself with the Muggles' war?"

He shook his head and waved his hand as if to dismiss the entire notion. "No, there's been plenty of witches and wizards doing their part. I mean, no one wants their country occupied by an enemy force." Hermione raised her hands and set them on the folder. "Just so you know, that information is classified. If you open it and read its contents, you're agreeing to help us with detaining them."

The restlessness Hermione had been feeling since she'd been put on leave from the SOE and from the end of the war seemed to vibrate in her mind when she nodded once and opened the folder.

The first image looking back at her was of Officer Smug. Even his military photograph captured the look. Rodolf Stein. She set his image aside. The second was Garlic-Breath, Gustav Braun. The third man that had travelled with them had been named Volker Lang. "These three are already dead," she told Sprout.

His eyebrows raised. "Can you elaborate? I need dates and locations if you know what became of them."

"I killed them in January of '44," she answered as blankly as she could manage. Sprout had flipped open a notebook and was writing down her words. "Outside Namur, Belgium. Afterwards, I burned down the farmhouse where their bodies were." She decided that she wouldn't mention the Jewish family or the old couple hiding them unless he asked. He didn't.

"Did you keep their wands?"

"No. I tossed them in the fire. They were tainted with Dark Magic and I didn't want to use them."

He nodded and gestured back to the stack of photographs.

The next six she didn't recognise. The seventh she did. He had been the one in charge when she'd been held prisoner. "This one, Leberecht Kruger? He's missing his right arm and leg." Sprout diligently took notes. "These were his henchmen," she continued as she flipped through the next six photographs. "Kraus and Voigt are dead," she tossed their photographs in the stack with Smug and Garlic-Breath.

"Your doing?" Sprout asked, more than professional curiosity colouring his tone.

She nodded. If she didn't have to talk about being their prisoner then she wasn't going to. Sprout and the International Auror Department didn't need to know about that. "And you won't find Diderich Wolff in a brothel."

Sprout gave a disgusted face as he nodded in what he thought might have been commiseration. "Invert, is he?"

Hermione looked past Sprout's shoulder, aiming to keep her voice as flat and dead as she could make it, just to see his reaction. "I cut off his dick."

He blanched and swallowed nervously. He set down his pencil and lowered both his hands to his lap. After an awkward minute, he gave a little cough and glanced back to the stack of photographs. Two more henchmen of Kruger's, she recognised them but hadn't come in contact with them much. There were two more that she didn't recognise at all. The last photograph in the stack had her sucking in a sharp breath.

It was a candid, unlike the previous photographs. Two men, brothers, younger than she'd known them. One of them was circled with red ink. He had dark hair and the beginning of a thick beard. His light eyes seemed to follow Hermione as she sat back in her chair. August Pohl.

*** . * . ***

**24 December 1945**

It was snowing. A bitter wind cut through her sweater and wool coat but Hermione didn't care. She couldn't handle being in the house with her family just then. Peggy, their parents—Amanda and Harrison—and little Harry were all singing Christmas carols around the piano as Edith played. There was a roaring fire burning in the marble fireplace in the corner, the crackling wood adding interesting notes to their joyful songs of a Christian saviour and wintery weather. They were so cheerful and all Hermione could think about were the people she'd lost in the winter time. She'd been taken from her mum around Christmas. She remembered a christmas tree. Bucky was forever lost in the snow. It only seemed right that she should be out here on the porch in the cold as she thought about them.

The door opened behind her and a warm gust of air enveloped her for a moment as Peggy stepped outside. It made the numbness nip at her fingers and nose more intensely.

"Come inside, Millie," she said.

"I don't want to... bring down the mood." Hermione tucked her hands under her arms to try and warm them more.

"Edith understands, you know. If she can smile then we know that there's hope for us too. I don't know if the pain of losing them will ever go away but it might become easier to bear."

Hermione shook her head and let her gaze follow the snow falling across the lawn. It contrasted with the dark green fir trees behind the property. "She has to smile, though," she said, "Harry needs her."

"Well, I need you. How's that? I know what you're going through when it comes to missing him because I miss Steve so damn much." Her voice broke on the last words and she took a moment to control her emotions. "You can talk to me. You don't have to shut yourself off from us, from me."

Hermione looked down at her feet, unable to turn to her sister. She couldn't. Every time she looked at Peggy all she could see was wood chips and black smudges and bloody knees. She couldn't let herself feel her pain, especially with Peggy nearby, because she couldn't trust her emotions or her magic. She could have killed her the last time; she couldn't risk losing control again. It was better if she just buried her feelings. They couldn't hurt anybody if she pushed them down; froze them out.

"Millie? I love you. I want to help but you just keep hiding from me. Please let me help, sister?"

Finally, she turned to look at Peggy. The cold air had already made her sister's nose and cheeks red and her eyes were red-rimmed from trying not to cry. "Let's not cry on Christmas, Pegs," she said. "You're right. Edith does understand. She can smile, it'll just take some more time." She tried to give Peggy a smile but it didn't feel right on her face.

Hermione reached out and cupped Peggy's cheek. "It'll stop hurting eventually. It has to." Peggy nodded and turned her head to kiss Hermione's palm.

Peggy slipped back inside and Hermione took one last moment to look out over the blanket of white. She tried not to think of Bucky frozen and blue.

After pudding, they all sat around the fireplace and relaxed into the cushions of the furniture. "I have an announcement," Peggy said, sitting up and drawing the attention of their parents and Edith. Harry was asleep with his head on his mother's lap.

"What is it, dear? Are you going back to school?" Amanda asked.

Peggy had only gone to university for two semesters before she'd signed up for the war effort with Michael. Amanda had been asking Peggy to go back almost non-stop since. Either that or to get over the American and reconnect with Fred Wells. Peggy had confided in Hermione that their mother was going to drive her crazy with her incessant nagging about it.

"No. I'll be moving to New York after the new year."

"What, no! Peggy," Amanda said, a little too loudly if the look Edith sent her as she carded her fingers through Harry's hair to soothe him back to sleep was any indication.

"The Strategic Scientific Reserve—the American agency that I was loaned to through SOE?—will be setting up a permanent post-war office there and they've asked to keep me on. My work with them is valuable."

"Will you visit, at least?" Harrison asked.

"Of course, Daddy," Peggy answered fondly.

"Are you going with her, Millie?" Edith asked, nothing but genuine curiosity on her face.

Hermione felt an odd shock run through her. Bucky had lived in New York. What would it be like to wander the city where he'd grown up? The interest faded quickly. She thought about Sprout and the mission he had given her. She had things to do on the continent. "No, I don't think so."

"I'll help you find a roommate if you need me to," Peggy reassured her.

Hermione gave her sister a grateful smile, even though she didn't feel that emotion at all.


	14. Chapter 14

**14 January 1946**

It turned out that Archie Sprout was going to be Hermione's partner as they traversed the continent looking for hiding Grindelwald supporters. He was an easy going man, a Hufflepuff, who was about fifteen years her senior with a wife and daughter at home. He also took it in stride as he instructed her on how Magical people tended to travel.

Instead of favouring Muggle means of transportation there was a lot of Portkey use as well as learning to Apparate to coordinates with the help of a topographical map. There was still the danger of Apparating blind; once they both fell into a rather deep, water-filled crater caused by RAF air raids in what their map had proclaimed to be an empty field in France.

Archie also used his magic more openly as they traversed the countryside. If no one was around while it was raining, he would use his wand to hold an umbrella-style Impervius Charm above their heads. He kept them warm in the freezing January cold with frequently applied Warm Air Charms.

What Hermione envied the most was the charmed tents that were larger on the inside and equipped like a small house. There was a wood stove that only needed a spell and no fuel, there were separate bedrooms with actual feather beds, and a bathroom with a clawfoot tub. Had Hermione known something like this had existed, she felt like she would have been beyond tempted to give one to Bucky in place of his army-issued half-shelter.

She and Archie stopped in Paris shortly after they arrived in France and he led them directly to the Wizarding area of the city. Hermione had had no idea it was there, even Bernard hadn't ever mentioned it. They stopped at a few pubs to ask around for information regarding the men they were seeking out. She heard by accident that Bernard Fortescue had moved to England shortly after V-E day. She would have to look for the kind piano player when she returned home.

They got a tip that sent them south to Lyon before they caught up with the first of their targets. Leberecht Kruger. He recognised her instantly. "Well if it isn't the Butcher," he called out in his heavily accented English\\. They'd found him in a bombed out warehouse on the south side of the city. "Come back to finish the job, girl?" He asked, waving his right arm's stump at her. She had cut it off at the elbow. She slid her wand into her hand and he eyed it suspiciously. "Is that the elder wand? Were you the thief then? I heard Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald. That old schoolmarm couldn't have done it if Grindelwald still had possession of it."

Hermione was focused on trying to contain her magic from exploding out of her, even with her new wand in hand it didn't want to be channelled that way any more. She didn't notice Kruger's buddies trying to flank her and Archie.

Archie spotted them though and touched her gently on the arm. His touch grounded her and she turned and dropped the wizard on her right. Kruger used those seconds to cast a spell at the ceiling to bring it down between them, leaving his comrades with no support. As the ceiling caved in, Hermione used her new magical strength to vanish it all en masse with no heed for the structural stability of the building. What Kruger didn't bring down, Hermione did.

"We want him alive, Carter!" Archie shouted over the sound of brick and steel coming down around them from where he was duelling the two henchmen that had flanked on the left.

She frowned and tried to channel something non-lethal through her wand, something to stop Kruger from fleeing. A deluge of water shot from her wand like a cannon through the hole she'd vanished in the rubble between her and her captor. It hit him in the back and sent him flying into the far brick wall. He didn't get back up. Hermione didn't particularly care if she'd accidentally killed him. He deserved it.

"Carter!" Archie said, disapproval heavy in his voice. He'd detained his two wizards and was standing next to the one she'd dropped. He was pocketing their wands. "Alive. Merlin, You're like a bull in a china shop, how the hell did you do spy work?"

She shrugged. She had too many emotions roiling through her at the moment to speak. She was ashamed at her inability to control her magic, apathetic to killing these men, and overwhelmed with memories of the things they did to her in the six months they had her. If Archie was angry she would just deal with it later. She walked calmly towards Kruger's body, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. Ready.

She needn't have bothered. His body was twisted and he was gasping shallowly. She must have damaged his spine. Her hand trembled as she aimed it at him, ready to kill him... but she didn't want to. She wanted him to suffer. What better way to prove to Archie that she was a part of the team and following orders than to allow him to live with his injuries. Being trapped in his own body sounded like a suitable punishment for his crimes. She waited a moment longer, listening to his breathing turn reedy and thin before casting one of the stabilizing spells they'd been taught in Hogwarts's rudimentary mediwitch classes. He wheezing slowed.

He opened his eyes a crack and watched her. His lips didn't really move so his words were slurred a little. "'ust kill 'e... 'lease."

She felt a smile form on her lips as if pulled up by invisible strings like she wasn't in control of herself. "No." She left him there for Archie to deal with and returned to their charmed tent from their last Apparition point. She needed to get away.

* . * . *

_**Date Unknown; After 10 July 1945** _

_Aside from her, the cell was empty. She sat in the corner and let her fingers play with the grit of dirt and dust on the floor. She only noticed the emptiness when she let her thoughts wander close to the surface. There was dried blood pooled in splotches in the centre, large puddles where the floor didn't drain properly that remained sticky for too long. Sometimes a new puddle would be made before the first was completely dry. It wasn't hers._

_"Guten Morgen hübsches Mädchen," her gaoler said from the other side of the bars, pulling Hermione from the depth of her thoughts where things were happy and she was with Peggy and Michael in her parents' country house. She blinked up at him but refused to answer his taunting. She knew this one could speak English, he had often while trying to get a response from her. She wouldn't give him anything._

_He asked something else in German but she didn't recognise any of the words. When he didn't get an answer he repeated himself in English. "I wonder... are you hungry enough to talk yet?" The word 'hungry' sent up a flare of intense pain in her stomach. Stomach acid gurgled up her throat and burned at the thought of food. She ignored the pain and turned her head to look past him. The wizard that brought her food wasn't there. She wouldn't be given anything even if she cooperated. She swallowed the acid back down. "Come on, little girl, you just have to tell me something and I'll give you something to eat."_

_She only looked at him because there was nothing else to look at. Her gaze was slow as she looked from the tacky blood stains in the middle of her cell to the door then back to him._

_"Oh, no, I'm not coming in. I've seen what you can do, you little butcher girl. I'm not giving you a chance to disembowel me." She vaguely remembered that; it had happened when she'd been stronger. There'd been a man, a wizard. He'd come into her cell and when she charged him he thought she was going for his wand. She felt a cruel smile curve her lips; she hadn't needed a wand. She resolutely kept her eyes away from the black scorch marks in the opposite corner._

_Her gaoler sat down on his side of the bars as if sitting on the hard floor was enough to make them equals. "You know," he started, tipping his chin up as he spoke like he was thinking off the top of his head. She knew he was cunning enough to give that impression but have his words pre-chosen for their impact. "If you're really a Muggle-girl, you're going to outlive your family. Watch them all die one by one from old age, disease, or accidents. How can you stand it, hmm? To know that they're so fragile like that? I mean, if you ever get out of here they might already be dead, right? You can't tell them anything, can you? That stupid Statute of Secrecy. Grindelwald is right, you know. You could tell them, share who you really are, if you supported Grindelwald's cause. It'd be for the Greater Good."_

_His words stirred up emotions she didn't want to deal with. Heartsickness over Bucky. He could be killed in action. How long had she been here? Had they won the war already? Maybe they'd won the war and Bucky had gone home to Brooklyn with Steve. Would Peggy have gone with them? Peggy would marry Steve if he asked. They might have already left her behind, forgotten poor little Millie. She wanted to share her magic with her sister. Peggy and Michael would have thought it fantastic and she could have... she would... She couldn't... she couldn't..._

_"Hey! I'm talking to you!" She roused, blinking blindly. Apparently, he'd kept talking. She didn't care but then he had a small box in his hands; a box that was twitching. "You'll be ready to talk after this, I'm sure." He put the twitching box on the floor and slid it under the bars. It stopped in the middle of a brown stain. With a flick of his wand, he opened the box._

Hermione woke up screaming. Or at least she thought she was. She panted and tried to figure out where she was. As the objects around her started to take shape, she realized she was in her room in the charmed tent she shared with Archie Sprout. Relatively safe. The war was over. Kruger and his henchmen were in Auror custody and would be charged for breaking the Statute of Secrecy among other lesser crimes. He wouldn't be charged with inhuman treatment of a prisoner of war, wouldn't be charged for torture. At least not for hers. As far as she knew Archie Sprout did not know she had been a POW and she was keen to keep it that way.

Hermione stood and crept to the little bathroom in the charmed tent. She didn't want to alert Archie to her distress if she could help it. When she came back to her room, she had to dry her sweat-drenched bedsheets. She sighed, unsure if she would be able to return to sleep. Fear still tickled at the back of her mind. She laid down anyway and let her thoughts drift to good memories of Peggy and Michael and Bucky.

* . * . *

**27 April 1946**

Hermione's stint with the International Auror Department lasted through most of April. Of the dozen men she and Archie set out to capture, they got eight of them. Two were apprehended by a second Auror team. Cock-less Diderich Wolff had committed a suicide mission where he was successful in killing ten Muggle civilians and destroying half a building. August Pohl was still in hiding.

He was only wanted for questioning in regards to his involvement with his brother Oswald and the labour camp at Mauthausen. He hadn't outright supported Grindelwald's cause nor had he broken the Statute of Secrecy. Hermione was almost glad they hadn't caught him. She had no idea what he knew about her disappearance from Linz and she was comfortable running from it a while longer.

Hermione was sat at her rickety table sipping stale tea in the little flat she had shared with Peggy. Peggy had moved out three months ago and there was a thin layer of dust over everything that was left. Harrison had insisted on covering the cost of the flat instead of letting Hermione find a new roommate. She knew she could clean the dust with a spell. It would be no problem to just pick up her wand and let her barely contained magic swirl around her, leaving the place sparkling and fresh. She didn't want to do it with magic, though. She wanted to do it the Muggle way.

She wasn't sure why she wanted to do it the Muggle way, though. Was it some sort of yearning to be like Peggy? To be something she wasn't so she wouldn't have secrets to share, secrets that kept her a stranger even to those closest to her. She was alone.

She'd not made any close friends at Hogwarts. Sure she'd shared a dorm with other girls but there was a gap there as well. Their families were all magic, they received Christmas and birthday presents, owl post. They shared stories that were commonplace in their world, of magical moments that they took for granted. Hermione didn't have that. She'd been silenced, told to say she was an orphan. Unable to do magic outside of school until she was of age and even then she would always worry that a Muggle was nearby, a Muggle might see.

Could she really live the rest of her life like that? Forsaking this integral part of her? With the way her magic wanted to burst out of her skin these days, she had a feeling she couldn't.

She looked around at the dirty, dark flat and decided she didn't want to be here anymore. This place where she'd almost killed Peggy in her grief. This place where she'd learned that the love of her life had been killed in action; had fallen from a train to an icy death. She had to get out of here. She stood and grabbed her wand, tucking it into a pocket. She slipped her shoes on and made sure she had her purse with a couple pounds and a few galleons. She pulled her jacket from the hook by the door and headed down the stairs. A walk in the late evening air might help her settle.

She walked the streets for almost an hour before she found she'd made her way to the Leaky Cauldron. Her stomach growled and a familiar pang shot through her. She needed to eat more often these days and she'd been neglecting herself in that way. She headed inside and sat at the bar.

Tom greeted her with a kind smile and stepped closer, "What can I get you, Millie?"

"Something hearty, I'm starving," she answered. He chuckled and headed back to the kitchen for a thick bowl of vegetable stew. She let her thoughts fade into the background while she ate and by the time she'd eaten her fill, Tom was looking at her with a worried expression on his face. There were four bowls stacked in front of her and a little plate that he'd brought her bread on. She might have eaten half a loaf.

"Are you all right? I thought you was just joking but I could have found some meat in the back for you if you'd really meant you was starving."

She wiped at her mouth with her napkin before setting it aside, feeling full and warm like she hadn't in a long time. "I'm swell, thanks," she said. He started to turn away but she called him back. "Tom, I was wondering if you knew of a place to let. You know, on this side of things. My roommate moved out a bit ago and I'm looking for a new place to stay."

His eyebrows raised, "I know lots of folks who don't see how wizards can live with Muggles, I says you just got to find the oblivious ones, you know? But yeah, I've got a _Daily Prophet_ around here somewheres, it's got a listing for rooms to rent."

"Thanks," she said. He brought her the newspaper and insisted she keep it. She paid her tab and headed back to her flat. The city was lit brightly now as she walked the pavement and she looked around feeling a pang in her chest as she thought about Bucky and how sweet he'd been when they'd gone on their date.

When she arrived in her flat, she dropped her newspaper on the kitchen counter, kicking up dust. She coughed at it and without thinking pulled out her wand, letting her magic loose until everything was gleaming, shiny and new. A tiny whimper slipped from her lips as she looked around at the clean flat.

It was wrong. It was all wrong and she couldn't fix anything. She tugged off her jacket, kicked out of her shoes, and peeled the rest of her clothes off, discarding the padding in her bra and the extra fabric she'd used to disguise her thin, unladylike hips. She collapsed in the bed and wept.

She'd look for a new flat tomorrow.

* . * . *

**24 May 1946**

Hermione took another sip of her flask and grimaced at the taste of Polyjuice. She stood under a large oak tree as a random Muggle woman and watched the funeral proceedings from a distance. Her hearing had been enhanced by the blue potion and she could hear the heart-felt sobs Amanda Carter was making into Harrison's shoulder.

She wanted to sob with her mother. Instead, she buried her emotions and her magic deep down and wrapped herself in apathy. She had to do this, she couldn't have continued on as she was, living a half-life. Someone stepped beside her. Archie. She hadn't told him what she had planned to do. He wasn't her boss or partner but it seemed he'd inferred it.

"You shouldn't be here," he said softly.

"I have to," she answered in someone else's voice.

"I didn't even know you had a Muggle family. What did you tell them when you had to go to Hogwarts?"

"I was made to lie. I couldn't keep doing it."

"You still shouldn't have to see them like this. It's going to haunt you," he said it like he was some wise elder when he didn't know anything about it. She was an anomaly; a Muggle-born in a world that didn't think Muggle-borns existed.

She had had a choice and she'd made it. It'd only been a few days and she was wishing she hadn't but it was done now and she couldn't take it back, couldn't fix it. She watched as Peggy, back in England for the funeral, walked to the front of the pathetically small group of mourners.

Even from this distance, Hermione could see the dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn't cover, could see the way her skin was puffy and swollen from crying. Peggy stood there and looked around. Aside from her parents, her supervisor at SOE was there as well as Jacques Dernier, Iris, and Bernard Fortescue. Monty Falsworth and Dum Dum Dugan too. She'd heard them tell Peggy earlier that Gabe and Jim had sent their condolences but they weren't able to make it. She cleared her throat but when she began to speak, Hermione could still hear the warble of thinly held control.

"Mildred Carter was loved. I can't remember a time when she wasn't in my life, seeing as how I was only a year and a half when she was born. We shared a wonderful, carefree childhood where the three of us—that is Michael, Millie, and I—were inseparable. Then she qualified for a fancy boarding school and... things changed. She changed. I suppose that's just growing up out from under her family's eye but it didn't change our bond. When she came home for the summers we were as inseparable as ever and when she left school I met her on the platform at Kings Cross. When I asked her what she wanted to do with her life her answer was to join the war effort as Michael and I had before her." Peggy looked down and caught her breath before she started crying. It took her several long moments before she could gather herself to speak again. When she did it was thick with emotion. "I was so proud of her. She excelled in her work and it wasn't long before she was selected for field work." She swallowed and laughed a little though it was partially forced. "I used to think that field work wasn't for women."

"You set a great example, Peggy," Dum Dum said in encouragement.

Peggy nodded and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. "Millie met Sergeant James Barnes before her first assignment on the continent and I think she might have fallen in love with him on the spot. I admired her courage for pursuing who she wanted and not caring about all the things that said she shouldn't. Wherever we were in the field is seemed Millie could find us, especially when she needed us. Her last assignment was the most difficult for her and she didn't have time to recover from itt when she got the news that Sergeant Barnes had been killed in action."

Peggy looked down again and took a heavy breath. She looked back at the few people gathered around the grave of Mildred Carter. "Millie died of a broken heart that day in February when I told her the news. Things may not have been official between them but Millie was a war widow... and she couldn't move on from that; couldn't live without her heart. Between that and the things she endured for her part in the war... it was too much. She was too pure-hearted and innocent and she gave all of herself. Millie Carter was a casualty of the war, not like our brother Michael or Sergeant Barnes or Captain Rogers, but she was a casualty all the same. She was loved..." her tears were back, slipping down her cheeks unheeded; she sucked in a breath and held it before adding, "and she will be dearly missed."

Peggy returned to her chair next to Amanda as the clergyman stepped back to the podium to give a few more words. Hermione didn't know who they had had to threaten to get a clergyman from a church they didn't attend to recite prayers for her. As far as she was aware, she shouldn't have got any prayers at all seeing as she had staged a suicide.

She'd sent a suicide note to Peggy, tear-stained and heartfelt and left a Transfigured human body wearing her face hanging from the ceiling in their flat. Hermione had taken just a few things and Apparated to Diagon Alley where she'd moved into her new flat above her new employer Flourish and Blotts.

A handkerchief was pressed into her hands and she looked down at it before looking up to Archie. She tried to give him a grateful smile. She dabbed at the tears that had leaked from her eyes. She returned her gaze to Peggy and their parents. Dum Dum had his arm around Peggy's shoulders as she wept.

Amanda and Peggy both laid long stem roses over the dark wood casket and stepped back as it was slowly lowered into the grave. When it had settled and the men had removed the mechanism lowering it, Harrison was offered a shovel. He tossed a single scoop of dirt over the casket before he dropped it and shook his head. He looked ten years older than he had at Christmas and Hermione's heart hurt for him. Burying two of their children due to war had not been in their life's plans.

"You either need to take another sip of that flask or we need to leave, Carter," Archie said softly from beside her. She nodded but didn't move for another minute, just taking one last look at her parents and her sister.

She shouldn't have done this. She should have fixed her relationship with Peggy first, reconnected with her even if it was over telegram to protect her from her uncontrollable magic. She inhaled and felt the way that magic was starting to ripple under her skin. She was too emotional. The oak tree above them gave a loud groan like it was trying to wrench itself from the ground.

"Calm down, doll, deep breaths now. Don't want to give the Muggles something to talk about," Archie said as he hooked his arm under hers and steered her away from her own funeral.

"Bernard's a wizard," she mumbled to him as he walked her out of the cemetery.

"Is he now?" he asked, though the question was rhetorical. "So are you going to change your name?"

"No. I'm still Millie Carter. I only meant for my existence in the Muggle world to perish." They had slowed to a stroll and the further they got from her family and the emotional torture she had been inflicting on herself, the easier it was to breathe.

"What are you going to do now?"

Hermione offered him a little smile, knowing it was brittle. As much as she'd thought about this decision and what it meant for her in regards to her family and the world on the other side of the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, she hadn't given much thought to what she was going to do with her time. At that moment, reading every book that came across her hands until the day she died sounded like a good enough plan. "I suppose I'm going to read and sell a lot of books."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep an eye on dates in the upcoming chapters, there are a lot of time jumps.

Hermione did sell a lot of books. She read even more. Every tome she got her hands on she read, she studied, and she learned. Where before, her magic had been on the verge of untamable and every emotional upset threatened to flatten buildings with all the grace of a charging rhinoceros, now she could control it with the delicate precision of a surgeon's scalpel.

The first thing she researched was the mind arts. She learned about Occlumency and Legilimency and put a name to the violation she'd been subjected to by Gustav Garlic-Breath in the war. She learned to protect her mind and control her emotions.

The next thing she tackled was defensive magic. She studied and practised. Every so often she would join duelling competitions. She would give it her all until the last two duels and then deliberately make mistakes. She didn't need accolades or awards. She just wanted practice protecting herself.

She learned how to turn herself into an Animagus. She had no use whatsoever for her form, however, unless she planned to move to the Arctic. She'd actually destroyed her couch and kitchen table by accident when she'd first changed shape. A simple flat above a bookstore on Diagon Alley was no place for a polar bear.

When Flourish and Blotts changed hands, Hermione left her little flat and moved into a small cottage on the edge of Hogsmeade. She had exhausted her supply of books at Flourish and Blotts already anyway. She contacted the Hogwarts librarian and during the summer months, they owled entire sections of the library back and forth for her to read.

It took years but she was sure she'd read every book in the Hogwarts library. After that, she sought out books from the Muggle world, though she rarely left her side of Diagon Alley. She studied languages next, German and Italian and Romanian. She brushed up on her French and relearned Norwegian. Latin. Learning new languages opened up more books for her to read. She spent a few years seeking as many texts and tomes as she could without having to go too far from her home.

She learned and studied about her physiology and after several years of experimenting with her diet, she found how much she needed to eat on a daily basis to gain weight and maintain it. The answer was a lot. She looked much closer to her pre-war self now. Except for her hair. Her hair she let grow long. The longer it was, the heavier it was, which meant it curled less and didn't fluff around her head.

It wasn't until several years after she'd moved into Hogsmeade that she heard from Aberforth Dumbledore down at the Hog's Head that she'd become something a ghost story to the kids up at the school. The Ghost of Hogsmeade. The Un-aging. The Young Crone. She didn't find any of those epithets particularly flattering but she didn't care that much. She had her house and her books and—when she wanted it—company at the Hog's Head. It wasn't a bad life.

She missed her old one more and more every year.

* . * . *

**10 August 1968**

Hermione was sitting in the Hog's Head drinking a warm butterbeer reading an American Muggle newspaper about a war heroine with dual British-American citizenship whose son, Steven, was attending an illustrious boarding school in the Northeast United States. He was eleven. The newspaper had a photograph of the boy with his mother, dark hair and dark eyes somehow bright even through the black ink. Hermione would clip the article and photograph out to keep when she returned home later.

Not in the article was information about Michele, the woman's daughter. She was sixteen. Hermione knew almost everything she could know about her niece and nephew, at least, what she could glean from articles about Peggy. She also knew about SHIELD, the organisation Peggy had co-founded back in '49. Hermione had almost missed Peggy's wedding announcement, she'd move from New York to Washington DC and the newspapers Hermione received hadn't kept up. There had been a single line in an otherwise boring article about US national security that mentioned SHIELD had relocated to the country's capital that tipped her off.

While Hermione was sipping her butterbeer she heard a low tone, almost as if someone had rung a bell. Ths sound was coming from the pocket where she kept her wand. Before she could investigate the sound her wand was making, someone sat down at her table. Albus Dumbledore, newly instated Headmaster of Hogwarts. She offered him a smile, he'd been kind to her when he'd been her Transfiguration professor all those years ago.

"Well if it isn't Millie Carter," he said genially. She could tell by his tone that he wasn't actually shocked to learn who she was. It was likely that someone in the village had shared the gossip of her moving into town shortly after she arrived years ago.

"Hello Professor," she said as she carefully refolded her newspaper and tucked it in her pocket next to her wand. Thankfully, the wand had stopped ringing. She thought she might need to owl Mr Ollivander about that, surely if a wand were meant to be musical she would have noticed something in the twenty-three years since she'd purchased this one. She met Dumbledore's gaze when she was done to find that he was studying her face. She was a month out from her forty-sixth birthday but there weren't lines on her face, not even crows' feet. She didn't look a day over twenty-five. It was abnormal even for a witch. She had a feeling it had to do with the blue potion.

"You helped the International Aurors to apprehend Grindelwald supporters after the war, didn't you? Did a bit of espionage for the Muggle government before that I believe?" His questions were rhetorical. His eyes sparkled behind his spectacles.

"I did," she answered flatly, even as she felt him brush against her mind. She allowed him a glimpse. She had nothing to be ashamed of where her work for the war or the Aurors was concerned. Archie had promised she would not be prosecuted for her part in the Muggles' war. Dumbledore bringing it up now, so long after, gave her an uncomfortable feeling in her gut; she wasn't going to like where this was going.

"I wonder, do you remember Tom Riddle from your time at school? He was in Slytherin, a first year when you started your fifth." His fingers caressed his beard as he spoke.

She thought back to her school years, only slightly faded in her mind from time. She did remember the boy but only vaguely. "Smart boy. Well behaved and on his way to becoming a prefect."

His eyes brightened as she answered like he was pleased with her. "Yes, indeed, a very smart and talented young man. In the interim since, however, I believe he's taken a... wrong turn. I fear he may be planning something that would not bode well for the Wizarding world." He paused and the hand that had caressed his beard dropped to his lap. "I know you fought Grindelwald supporters but do you know what their ultimate goal was?"

Even as she said her answer, Hermione was certain the question was meant to trick her. "Exposure."

"Exposure was the path, not the destination. Grindelwald saw himself a saviour, a prince, meant to be a benevolent ruler over Muggles. I think this is Tom's ultimate goal as well."

As he led their conversation, Hermione was starting to see the larger picture. He was going to ask her to come out of retirement, in a manner of speaking. She sipped at her butterbeer and waited for him to get around to it.

"I believe having someone keep a close eye on Tom would be beneficial to the Wizarding world at large. It goes without saying that exposure would mean terrible things for everyone. Alas, it cannot be me. My history and my position as Headmaster are too visible, plus Tom has something of a... dislike for me. I was his professor, as I was yours, and that, I think, proves too great a divide to cross." He paused again, digging into a pocket and pulling out a little square brown package of sweets from Honeydukes. He opened it and picked up a single yellow piece. "Sherbert lemon?" he offered, sliding the unfolded paper towards her.

"No, thank you," she dismissed his offer. She did take another sip of her butterbeer, though.

He popped the yellow sweet in his mouth and hummed. He took the time to fold the paper back around his sweets and tuck the package back into his pocket before he continued. "I think a quiet confidant, a contemporary who isn't visible in the public eye, would be the best way to learn Tom's plans."

"You want me to spy on him for you." She had grown blunt in her self-imposed isolation. "What do I get in return?"

There was an involuntary twitch under his right eye as if he hadn't expected her question. "I believe there's someone you would like to meet. Say, an eleven-year-old little boy who's heading off to Ilvermorny in three weeks? An eleven-year-old who will have to lie to his family and to his friends who would benefit from having a relative who understands his untenable position?"

Heartsickness flooded Hermione but she buried it underneath years of practised Occlumency. She didn't react to his bluff. Muggle-borns didn't exist; she was an anomaly. Steven Sousa was not a wizard. He couldn't be. It wasn't like she actually shared blood with him. That was the key. No one knew that Hermione remembered that she knew she wasn't a Carter by blood. She intended to keep it that way.

"And put the burden of lying about his non-dead aunt on him? No, you'll leave the boy alone," she answered. She knew it was a gamble. Now he had the ammunition of revealing her continuing existence if she didn't do as he wanted. "I expect to get paid. Well over a living wage, paid monthly, deposited into a new vault at Gringotts."

He frowned but nodded. "I'll put you on the Hogwarts payroll."

"Under the table. No records," she said. She tipped her butterbeer back and swallowed the last of it. She set the empty stein down. "It's likely I'll be unable to get in touch regularly. You won't contact me, you'll wait for me to come to you. I'll send a note with Aberforth." His brow furrowed minutely and his eyes sparkled again. She denied him the mental access he wanted. When his warm expression closed off briefly she considered it a win. "I suspect you understand that if we come across one another in a social setting you do not speak with any sort of familiarity aside from that of former professor and student."

"Of course," he agreed. The slight tell that he was unsettled was gone and he was back in control. "I suppose you should know he goes by another name now."

"Oh?" she asked, already regretting her decision to become a spy again. She'd been thinking too much about Peggy lately—Peggy and Bucky, to be honest—and she was lonely. She was going to blame her decision on her loneliness.

He stood, bringing the conversation to a close. "He goes by the name Voldemort now."

She'd heard that name, heard the rumours whispered here in the Hog's Head with her enhanced hearing. She blanched and Dumbledore gave her a small smile as he headed towards the exit. What had she got herself into now?

* . * . *

**19 September 1971**

If there was one thing that Hermione had learned in the forty-plus years of her life it was patience. After she received the first deposit in her new Gringotts account—which she immediately withdrew and deposited in a Muggle banking account—she started listening to and asking around for an audience with Lord Voldemort. She let a few galleons slick some palms, heard more rumours, but still, no contact. She was beginning to think that she would have to tell Dumbledore she'd failed except after all the time and money she'd sunk into attempting to contact the elusive Dark Lord she felt like it was a matter of pride to her now.

Hermione put the entire thing out of her mind for her birthday. She was feeling the need for conversation rather than study so she was going to the Hog's Head for dinner. Aberforth was always up for talking about his goats.

She didn't care if it was _intelligent_ conversation.

She pulled her cloak tight around her as she walked up the streets of Hogsmeade, keeping the hood pulled down to cover her head from the cold rain that had been lingering over the village for days. When she entered the dingy pub she heard her wand make that low, musical tone. It started her only a little as she'd completely forgotten it would do that. She still wasn't sure why it did. She pulled her hood back only enough to show her face to Aberforth as she approached the bar.

He gave the usual twitch of his lip to indicate he'd seen her and he put a stein on the bar top. As she usually did in the moment before he poured her butterbeer she flicked her fingers towards the glass, cleaning it. Normally, he would tease her gently and call her a show-off. This time, however, he just glanced from the glass to one of the patrons in the back corner. His gaze flicked to her without moving his head and she nodded. The subtle cue all she was going to get that someone had been asking for her. She refrained from sighing. It seemed the old adage was true; a watched pot never boils. "I'd like a bowl of stew as well, Abe."

He frowned and looked around for a bowl. "You mean you want the rest of the pot, don't you?"

She gave him a thankful smile, glad to have that little teasing back between them. "That depends. How much do you have left?"

"You and me are the only ones who eat it."

"And Lettie."

He huffed. "That old goat don't count."

"Do I need to clean my own bowl or can you manage without me?" she asked.

He gave a heavy put-upon sigh and set a dirty bowl on the counter. A flick of her fingers corrected the issue. "I know your soft spots, old man."

He nodded and took the bowl to the fireplace along the back wall behind the bar where a large cauldron was hanging from a chimney crane in the fire. "Go on, I'll bring it," he called back gruffly. She took her stein of butterbeer, casting a Heating Charm on it as she walked toward her usual table. It wouldn't do to just sit down at the stranger's table without being invited.

As she walked by she got a look at her contact. A young man, probably barely out of Hogwarts, with his dark hair pulled back with a ribbon. He was well-dressed. His dark green, velvet robes were snug around his shoulders. Black leather gloves covered his hands. She could see the very end of his wand where it stuck out of his pocket on his left side; left-handed. She passed him and took her seat, breathing deeply. The comforting scents of the roaring fire, Aberforth's always-present stew, dirt, and goat manure were present but she also caught the light musky tones of a man's expensive cologne.

Aberforth brought her the bowl of stew and a hunk of bread on a worn pewter platter and set both down on the table with a grunt. She tipped her head in thanks as he left. He would refill it as often as she wanted, he was sweet like that; always willing to feed someone who was hungry. She wished herself another birthday, reminding herself that 49 wasn't all that old for a witch, before tucking into her meal. Her contact was courteous enough to let her finish—her first bowl, at least—before he stood and joined her at her table. She set her spoon down and glanced up at him. "Can I help you?" She asked, letting her gaze linger on his face. He was handsome. Dark eyes, olive skin, an aristocratic bend to his nose. His lips were thin and the way he was pursing them with his obvious anxiety didn't help balance his features. He looked somewhat familiar.

"I've heard rumours that the Ghost of Hogsmeade wants to meet with You-Know-Who," the cultured tones of the polished wealthy helped her puzzle out who this must be.

"Lestrange?" she asked.

The confused look that flittered over his face was almost comical. "Umm, sorry? Do I know you?"

She probably shouldn't press but now that she'd figured out who he was related to, the Lestrange boy who had, in his first year, sent her Tooth-Splintering Strongmints as a Valentine's, she couldn't help herself. She'd been a fourth year at the time and taken it as an insult to her breath rather than the innocent gesture he'd probably meant it. "Is your name Lestrange?"

"Yes," he answered, visibly flustered. He'd probably meant for this meeting to be clandestine. If he'd come at someone else's behest they should have realised that the 'Ghost of Hogsmeade' was probably older than she looked. "I'm Rodolphus Lestrange."

" _Enchanté_."

He looked confused again and Hermione had to bite the inside of her lip to not laugh at him. The Lestrange she knew had been very proud of his French heritage despite the typical attitude of the English. She wondered if it was this man's mother who had swayed Lestrange into not teaching his son the language.

"Pleased to meet you," she explained for him. "When will I be able to make his acquaintance?"

His eyes went a little wide like he was shocked at her audacity to expect to meet the infamous Dark Lord. "Umm, well, this was just a..." He floundered for the words he was looking for and Hermione hadn't felt this good in years. Making young men sputter seemed like a worthwhile new past time she should look into.

"Scouting mission," she said. "I understand. I'd still like to meet him," and although she was still hungry she wanted to fluster him just a bit more so she glanced at her wristwatch before looking back at him. "Would tonight be a good time?"

Rodolphus seemed struck dumb for several beats of her heart. He licked his lips and opened his mouth but nothing came out for another second or two. What he said shocked her almost as much as she'd been doing shocking him. "Yes, actually, I think he'd like that."

Hermione wasn't well-practised in Legilimency but she didn't need it to glean that Lord Voldemort would, in fact, not like it. She smiled her best predatory grin.

So it was that, on her forty-ninth birthday, she met Lord Voldemort face to face.


	16. Chapter 16

**27 April 1972**

It turned out that Lord Voldemort had done his research and looked into who exactly Mildred Carter was before sending his errand boy. He knew exactly what he wanted from her and what he would offer her in exchange for it before he'd sent Rodolphus to speak with her.

His offer had been interesting, at least, and not a bluff as Dumbledore's had been. He offered her a small stipend as well as access to as many rare and obscure tomes as she would care to read. She'd already taken him up on it and requested books about the mind arts, in case he had something she hadn't come across. He hadn't even so much as twitched with worry as Dumbledore had.

In return, Hermione was meant to infiltrate the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries. Once she was in place, he would tell her more about his requests for information. It wasn't that bad of a deal really except she hadn't spent much time around people in decades. She worried she would have trouble making connections. It turned out that as an Unspeakable she wouldn't have to speak to many people at all.

After having her sign several magical binding contracts saying she would not speak about her time in the Department with anyone unless they were a contemporary, she asked how long the contracts were for and whether they were terminated with the end of employment. The man inducting her had stopped and stared blankly like no one had ever asked that before. "Employment hasn't ever been terminated before by anything other than death, ma'am."

She's smiled innocently and answered, "There's a first for everything, I suppose."

He hadn't thought her funny.

The first few months at her new post were full of learning new things. Specifically about the myriad of projects being worked on under the guise of 'Mysteries.' There were rooms devoted to the study of love, space, thought, death, and time. She'd requested to work on the study of time only to be told that she would have to be invited onto that project. Invitation only became available once she had been an Unspeakable for at least fifteen years with good behaviour and progress made in her chosen division. She was given an option of the others. She deliberated between love and death for a while before she decided on death. Lord Voldemort had seemed pleased.

She was immensely disappointed with her choice within months. It seems the few wizards who worked on the study of death had a century on her and hadn't made any advances in the last four decades. The most interesting thing about the study of death was the Veil in the Death Chamber.

It was in the oldest part of the Ministry building and had likely had the Ministry built around it. It sat in the centre of a stone amphitheatre. The room was always cold and the black curtain that hung from the crumbling stone archway would flutter like in a breeze despite the air of the room being undisturbed. She'd been told once that many people could hear the voices of their loved ones who had crossed over into the afterlife. Hermione had sat in that cold room for thirteen hours straight, listening with her enhanced hearing for the slightest hint of a voice.

It had given her chills when she'd heard her Amanda's voice, Harrison's... and even Michael's, just the slightest whisper that even her enhanced hearing couldn't make out what was being said but she'd recognised them.

She'd not heard Bucky's voice once.

A fellow Unspeakable, Augustus Rookwood had come and collected her and made her drink water and eat when she didn't come out after the maximum amount of hours one was allowed in the room. It seemed that some people were so desperate to hear their loved ones that they would keep getting closer and closer until they fell past the curtain. They did not return.

Hermione took her work seriously, even if it was something others had already studied. She documented in her private research that the Veil could be collecting humans and the whispers are only a lure and that they weren't actually voices from beyond the grave. She also thought that if they were voices beyond the grave that concluded that Muggles and Wizards went to the same place in the afterlife. She wanted to take comfort in that fact, that she would be with Bucky at the end of her life, but she couldn't. He wasn't there.

One day in April, Hermione was accosted by one of the many owls delivering paperwork when she was on her way out. The owl was either incompetent or confused by the spinning entrance room. The poor creature flapped around her head for several moments before dropping his bundle of papers into her hands. She almost felt sorry for him until he also shat on the floor as he was leaving. It splattered her robes and shoes. With a frown, she flicked her fingers to clean the birdshit off and then took the time to open the bundle in her hands.

It wasn't for the Unspeakables studying death. It was requested copies to the time division regarding the 'No Muggle-born Policy' and documents filed by the Time Travel and Displacement Teams. Hermione's mouth went dry as she read. She attempted to duplicate the papers, knowing that paperwork in the Department of Mysteries was routinely Charmed against it. She was out of luck and the spell didn't work. She reread the work focused on committing it to memory. The door opened and another Unspeakable stepped out, their hood up so she couldn't tell who it was.

"Oh, is that my requested paperwork?"

She didn't recognise the Unspeakable's voice but that was normal. They either didn't talk at all or those who did used Modulation Charms on their masks. Hermione held out the bundle, disappointed and frustrated that she didn't have time to find a way to keep the information for herself. The other Unspeakable stepped closer and snatched the bundle from her hands. They looked down, confirming that it was indeed their paperwork. Hermione could hear the way they smacked their lips as though they were planning to tear into Hermione for collecting other people's post. They took another step forward and slipped in the birdshit on the floor that Hermione had not cleaned up. They hit the granite floor hard and a grunt slipped from them.

Hermione didn't bother offering her hand to them and instead only whispered quietly, "Owl got confused, I guess." She stepped around the Unspeakable on the floor and left for the day. When she got home to her little cottage in Hogsmeade she pulled out a biro and paper and proceeded to write down everything she had committed to memory. She was surprised at how much she remembered.

Too bad the documents hadn't explained what the 'No Muggle-born Policy' was nor who implemented it. One day, when she found out who was responsible she might kill them; they'd ruined her life.

* . * . *

**25 December 1974**

In the three years that Hermione spent as an Unspeakable, Lord Voldemort called on her for information regarding the study of death thrice. Each time his questions revolved about finding ways of conquering death. As that wasn't the direction her research had taken her, she made elaborate conjectures regarding the suspected ages of her colleagues and suggested the use of a philosopher's stone. He'd seemed content with her progress and bid her continue and to let him know if she made any significant discoveries.

Hermione was bored in her work and the longer she'd studied the paperwork she'd accidentally discovered two years ago regarding the 'No Muggle-born Policy' the more she wanted to know. So on Christmas day, when most people took time off to spend with their families, she decided to do something she hadn't done in a long time.

It was time to break in to find the information she wanted.

When she arrived in the atrium, the usual lights illuminating the large room were out. She took the elevator down to level nine. In the entrance she waited for the spinning to stop before opening the door to the time division. She used the Human-presence Revealing Spell and breathed a soft sigh of relief to see that no radar-like ping came back to her. She went to the cabinets along the wall and found all of them locked; they refused to open to a non-verbal Unlocking Charm. She shrugged and took out the lock-picking tools that she'd recreated from her kit in the war.

She wasn't as proficient at it as she should have been but after breaking off one pick in the lock and a careful Summoning Spell to get the bit of metal out she managed to get the first cabinet unlocked. Interestingly enough, it seemed like the one lock opened the entire wall of cabinets. She pulled open the first and felt her shoulders slump when she realised they had Undetectable Extension Charms on them. The file drawers, when opened fully, stretched across half the room.

"Blast," she muttered. There was no way she'd be able to find what she wanted without some way of sorting through the mess. "Accio Muggle-born Policy!" Nothing happened. Either she didn't have the phrase quite right or there were Anti-Summoning Spells on the cabinets to prevent theft. She glanced at her wristwatch, estimating how much time she had. Maintenance would arrive in four hours for the evening shift. She skimmed, very quickly, for anything regarding the policy, time travel, displacement teams, or machines.

It wasn't until three and a half hours later that she found something about the Travel Room. She pulled the files from the drawer and read quickly. One of the Travel Rooms in Russia was used without authorization for the displacement and placement of a non-magical six-year-old child for something called the Red Room program. The only name listed for the girl was Alianovna. Hermione didn't even know if that was a given name or a surname.

"What are you doing?" a voice called out. She recognised it from the Unspeakable she'd left sitting in birdshit years ago.

She looked up and froze, more stunned by her own impulse than being caught. The first thought that had gone through her head was to kill them. It startled her into just standing there blinking at the Unspeakable. She was wearing her own Unspeakable robes but, as she'd learned in those first few months, you learn the build of your colleagues. Despite not knowing their identities or even their true voices, you recognised them. She didn't doubt that this Unspeakable didn't recognise her from this division and knew she was trespassing. It didn't take much for the Unspeakable to bind her and detain her.

She didn't fight them even though she knew she was exponentially more powerful. She was bored of the Department of Mysteries and she'd blown her only chance at getting into the time division by breaking in. She'd had the hood of her robes and her masked removed as she waited in her bindings for the Supervisor. she briefly spared a thought to how angry Lord Voldemort would be at her for losing this position. She didn't exactly care

When the door opened it wasn't just the Supervisor over the Department of Mysteries. An older man that Hermione immediately recognised as the head of the Obliviation team who had taken care of fixing Peggy's memories after Hermione had exploded their flat stepped in. By the way his eyes widen, he recognised her.

"Supervisor," the Unspeakable who had caught her started, "I found this Unspeakable digging through restricted files in the time division. She isn't authorized for that division. I don't know what information she might have found. I advise for a full Obliviate and commit to the Janus Thickery Ward."

Despite all of Hermione's training in Occlumency, she couldn't stifle the gasp that escaped her mouth at the severity of that sentence. An Oblviation so thorough she would need to be committed to the long-term spell damage ward? She sucked in a breath and straightened her spine. If that wizard so much as raised his wand at her head she would unleash her magic and kill everyone in the room. At her thoughts, her magic roiled up closer to the surface.

The Obliviator's eyebrows went up minutely and he shook his head. "I don't think such drastic measures are necessary, Supervisor—"

The Unspeakable interrupted, "Those are the rules _he_ set down—"

The Supervisor lifted an eyebrow at the Unspeakable and despite Hermione's worry, she tucked that information into the back of her mind. Someone in charge of the time division in the Department of Mysteries was very intent on the information in the division not getting out.

The Obliviator continued, disregarding the Unspeakable. "It would only take a moment for me to see what she's found and erase it."

The Supervisor, a middle-aged man by the wrinkles of his face and the way his belly rounded out his robes frowned. "What were you looking for, girl?" His tone was loud and harsh. Hermione had to school her features so she didn't react to him attempting to use his age to intimidate her. The Obliviator's lips turned up slightly behind the Supervisor like he thought it was amusing as well.

Hermione shrugged and decided to play up to the Supervisor's misconceptions about her age. "I was just curious, is all, I mean, what's so significant about the study of time that it requires fifteen years of study in another division?"

"Those are just the rules!" The Unspeakable spluttered, sounding outraged.

"Hmph," the Supervisor said, pursing his lips and making the muskrat-moustache on his face wiggle, "Children these days, this is what we get for recruiting just out of Hogwarts. Kids who don't think the rules apply to them!"

Hermione let her shoulders slump forward a little and trembled her bottom lip like she was about to cry. "I'm sorry," she whined, "I really was just curious! I couldn't even figure out where to start there was so much and I didn't understand most of what I read."

The Obliviator looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. It made him look a bit constipated.

"Please," Hermione said, "I lost my Daddy last year. Don't take my memories of him away."

The Supervisor's moustache wiggled more as he licked his lips and worked his mouth like it was a mechanical part that made his brain tick. He looked over at the Unspeakable. "Did you get a look at what papers she'd found?"

"Umm..." the Unspeakable mumbled. "She put them back in the correct file and closed the drawer as soon as she saw me." Hermione didn't remember doing that.

"Did she resist being bound and brought to this office?"

"No, she just looked... stunned, I suppose. Like she didn't expect to be caught." She hadn't, of course.

She made the quivering of her bottom lip a bit more pronounced and widened her eyes. "Please, sir, I didn't mean any harm!"

The Supervisor looked perturbed and looked back at the Obliviator. "What do you think? Can you find the memories and erase just those?"

"Of course, I can," he said and he made eye contact with her. There was a gentleness and sincerity in his gaze that reminded her sharply of how he'd been gentle with her sister. He raised his wand slowly and pointed at her temple. She felt him cast the Legilimency spell first and welcomed him into the void of her mind. His avatar looked around at the overwhelming blackness and back to the avatar of her, standing tall and proud in front of it all.

_You're a powerful Occlumens; the strongest I've ever seen. Even if I'd wanted to Obliviate you, I don't think I'd be capable of it. An entire team would have to do it._ His voice echoed in her mind. _I need you to go glassy-eyed, little miss actress, and I'll say I was successful. Thank you for helping my cousin Bernard Fortescue in the war. He talked a lot about you and was greatly saddened at your supposed death.  
_

She felt him leave her mind and let her gaze slip out of focus. She forced a painful emotion to the surface, his mention of her funeral easily brought on thoughts of Peggy, and let tears well up into her eyes.

"She didn't know much. Just some of the trials about time travel from the days of Eloise Mintumble."

"Oh," the Unspeakable said and it sounded like they were pouting. "That's all? She only found old records?"

The Obliviator turned to look at them with eyebrows raised, "Do you doubt my ability to do my job?"

"No, sir," they answered.

The three of them turned back to look at Hermione and she waited a few more moments before blinking as if coming back into awareness. She wasn't sure what an Oblivated person looked like when they'd been awake during the spell, she hoped she got it right. She looked around, confused. "Supervisor?" she asked, her gaze returning to the man.

"You've been fired from your position as an Unspeakable. Come back on Thursday to sign the final paperwork. I'll have to figure out what contracts need breaking. You'll get your last weeks' pay then as well."

She blinked and asked, "What did I do?"

His moustache wiggled again as he thought. "We're not obliged to say. Just that you broke the rules. I'll escort you out of the building." He turned to the other two, "Happy Christmas," he said. He cast the spell to unbind her and waited for her to stand. The Obliviator said his goodbyes to the Unspeakable and walked with Hermione and the Supervisor to the lift. He got off at level three for the Obliviator Headquarters without a second glance at Hermione. At the atrium, the Supervisor walked her all the way to the fireplaces and watched as she took a bit of Floo powder from the mantle. He didn't speak before she called out her destination and spun through the network to the Three Broomsticks. She walked the short distance to her home in the freezing cold, thankful to the Obliviator and in shock at his kindness.


	17. Chapter 17

**2 September 1975**

Lord Voldemort had not been pleased that Hermione had lost her job as an Unspeakable but her lie seemed to have placated him—that she had been sure she'd found something important except they'd Obliviated it from her mind, even going so far as to tell her they did so. She worried that he would attempt to penetrate her mind and had resolved herself to let him but he deemed it unnecessary. Instead, he gave her a new task, also suited to her talents.

Spying on Dumbledore.

Unfortunately, it was to be under the guise of teaching. Hermione had never entertained the idea of teaching and the thought would have made her shudder in discomfort as a younger woman. As unhappy as the idea made her, Hermione made a show of sending a letter to Dumbledore shortly after the beginning of the year applying for the upcoming position as Lord Voldemort had told her to do. She did not ask what the position was nor did she ask the Dark Lord how he knew a position would be available.

Dumbledore responded with a letter with more questions than answers and no valuable details. She sent another message asking to meet at the Hog's Head. He didn't argue with that.

Now, Hermione was preparing herself for her first class of the day as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. She'd been introduced yesterday at the Welcome Feast on the same breath mentioning the former professor's unfortunate demise due to an over-infestation of doxies and a doxy allergy. Flitwick had leaned close and informed her of the unverified curse on the position. She wondered what misdeed would befall her at the end of the school year to keep her returning in the fall. She hoped it was better than a doxy allergy.

The students were filing in now, Gryffindors and Slytherins fifth years according to the vague notes she'd been left by the previous professor, all in those gangly, spotty years. They were a rambunctious bunch from what she could tell.

"Would you get a look at that? How'd we score a bird like her?" a dark-haired boy with shaggy hair was saying as he entered, leaning close to his group of friends and whispering like she couldn't hear. She supposed she might shouldn't have. She kept her face as placid as possible as they all spread out, the group of four the wildest of the bunch. A redheaded girl was walking close with a greasy shorter boy with a nose overly large for his face.

"I'm sure you're used to the process by now but each new teacher handles things differently," Hermione said. "I'd like to call the roll this first day so I can get everyone's names." She paused and noticed that only about half the class was paying attention. She offered them a little smirk. "And then you'll have a test."

"What?" the shaggy-haired boy said. Without his hand over his face, she had a good look at his features and recognised them almost immediately. His cheekbones were high and prominent on his handsome face, despite the spots and the unhappy frown. "It's the first day of class! We can't have a test already?" He looked at his friend, "Back me up, James."

"Do you have a problem with that, Mr Black?"

His eyes narrowed. "How do you know my name?"

"Just a guess," she smiled, showing teeth. Her background had not been shared with the school and she hadn't seen any reason to lie and say she was from Beaubatons or any younger than she was. She probably shouldn't have assumed he was a Black but she'd gone to school with four different Black heiresses, with those cheekbones and that glossy black hair she didn't think he could be anyone else. Though now that she had a longer look, his friend also had the same glossy black hair but his cheekbones weren't nearly as sharp. He had a differently shaped chin too. "The test won't be graded," she said looking at the other students. She had their attention now. "It's just to assess what you know now and what I need to teach you before your O.W.L.s at the end of the school year."

Black's brow furrowed a little like he still wasn't sure of her but he nodded like she was making sense.

The class went well and she hoped things continued like that. They, along with all the other students she saw in the first week of September, were woefully behind where they should have been in the curriculum.

By the second week, when she was ready to start ploughing through the enormous amount of material they needed to learn to be OWL ready, she really got a taste of what the year was going to be like. The group of four—whom she'd learned were Gryffindors—came crashing into the room giggling and raising a racket. They were followed by the redheaded girl Evans, stomping into the room with her hands fisted at her sides. Trailing behind her was the dark-haired Slytherin boy, Snape. He was drenched head-to-toe in oil of some sort, which was notoriously difficult to clean up with the basic spells that were taught in Charms. He was seething, whispering swears and threats under his breath in their direction even as he glared at them.

Hermione took a step closer and wrinkled her nose slightly, recognising the scent of engine oil from her time in the war. A flash of memory of sitting in Bucky's lap dozing while Monty drove rushed over her. She pushed it down and focused. Where had these boys even found automobile oil? She aimed her wand at Snape and used a different Cleansing Spell on his skin and clothes she'd learned years ago. She followed it up with a Drying Spell. His long hair flew up away from his face and when it fell, it was dry and fluffy. Snape's under-breath tirade stopped instantly and Evans giggled. Even the four Gryffindor boys stopped their congratulatory snickers. They all looked in shock like they'd never seen the poor boy's hair that clean.

Hermione called the class to order. She couldn't prove that the Gryffindor boys had been the ones to dump the oil on the Slytherin so she couldn't take points but she would keep an eye on them all. She had a feeling they were troublemakers.

* . * . *

**25 December 1975**

The school year was progressing relatively smoothly for Hermione. Yes, there were plenty of mishaps and almost-caught pranks with the fifth years but all the rest were reasonably well behaved. She had pushed all her classes to get them closer to where they should be and offered outside help to the students if they wanted it. Many of them did just enough to get by, of course, but there were a few who came to her for help. Mr Lupin and Mr Pettigrew actually came by, not specifically for help, but for extra guidance.

By Halloween, Hermione had learned what Lord Voldemort's true goal was for her in this position. He was recruiting older Slytherin students and she was meant to help guide those that held promise to his way of thinking: that Muggles were animals and filth and in dire need of subjugation, which he planned to give them. He also held disdain for half-bloods. Hermione found this particularly amusing since she was almost positive Tom Riddle himself was a half-blood.

She weeded out the fanatics of the bunch only and encouraged their communication with former students and older siblings who she knew were supportive of Lord Voldemort's regime. Others, that were on the edge and could fall sway to the propaganda he was subtle pushing, she tried to expose to more Muggle concepts without giving away her heritage.

Most of the students went home for the Christmas holidays. The House tables had been pushed against the walls and the students and teachers who also stayed all sat at one table. Black and Lupin sat on either side of Hermione while Potter and Pettigrew sat near Professor Slughorn. There were still two open seats in the centre of the long side of the table and Headmaster Dumbledore was missing. It was rather obvious he was bringing a guest.

Dumbledore joined them first but didn't sit down. Instead, he stood next to the table and chatted. Hermione listened patiently to Lupin who was asking theoretical questions about the permutability of the Dark Arts.

Hermione's wand issued a low muffled tone in her pocket. She looked up as an elderly man walked in and Dumbledore raised his arms in greeting, calling out a jovial, "August! I'm so glad you could join us."

At the name, Hermione's attention left Lupin. She narrowed her eyes and waited to get a look at the newcomer. Dumbledore had just finished hugging him and had pulled him around by the waist as he introduced his friend to the teachers and students on the opposite side of the table. Hermione didn't need an introduction.

Looking as old as Dumbledore, with a beard not nearly as fluffy or grand was August Pohl.

Her breath caught and she reached over to hide the gold charm bracelet she still occasionally wore from her missions in the war.

"Professor Carter?" Lupin asked, with a particular tone that said it wasn't the first time he'd tried to get her attention.

"Really? That guy?" Black said under his breath.

Hermione was trying not to panic as her brain screamed warnings at her. When Dumbledore and August turned their attention from Slughorn and the students on that end of the table to hers, August's eyes lit up like he was happy to see her.

"Hermine!" he said with a heavy German accent. She'd forgotten what his voice sounded like and how uncomfortable he'd made her.

"Oh? Do you two know each other?" Dumbledore asked, though there was a twinkle to his eyes that Hermione was not pleased to see.

"Hermine and I were close during the war," he stretched out his hands like he wanted to hug her and she let herself be carried by expectation as she stood and embraced him. His wrinkled, dry hand caught her wrist with the bracelet when she started to step back and he looked down on it. "You've kept it all this time, my dear?"

"Of course," she said.

He didn't release her wrist as he looked over her face. "You still look just the same. How is that possible?"

She heard Black and Potter hissing whispers behind her, "What war?" and "Wait, how old is she?"

She smiled tightly and said in a deadpan, "Maybe I'm a vampire?"

August laughed like she'd told a spectacular joke. "I'd very much like to speak with you in a more private space, my girl."

"I'm sure we can work something out." It felt very strange to be conversing with him in English. She returned to her seat and set her right hand on the table. Dumbledore continued introducing August to the others.

Lupin was staring at her hard when she finally looked back at him. Then his attention shifted down to her hand. It was trembling on the tabletop. She jerked it under the table, intending to hide the tell of her distress. Lupin moved quickly and caught her hand in his. He was sitting close to the table with his chair tucked in and he had long limbs so no one could see that he was holding her hand.

She stared down at her empty charger and waited for Dumbledore to finish and for both men to take their seats. She felt awkward, sitting there letting a student of fifteen hold her hand but she didn't want to let go. She was going to have to eat soon, to pick up a fork and try not to scrape the metal tines against the porcelain of the plates. If she didn't calm her trembling somehow she would give her distress away with a squeaking fork.

Lupin, for his part, looked calm and like he wasn't doing something so weird as holding a teacher's hand under the table. Black and Potter were still sharing whispers that she wasn't paying any attention to and Pettigrew was talking with Professor Slughorn on his other side. When the food appeared, Lupin squeezed her hand tight once and then let go. She reached for her fork and sent him a grateful look, her hand wasn't trembling enough to be noticeable. He nodded and engaged his friends in conversation.

When the meal was over, Hermione pleaded off heading to the teacher's lounge for more adult beverages and relaxed conversation by claiming she wasn't feeling well. Dumbledore and August both gave her looks that said they didn't believe her but didn't call her out on the lie. She headed to her quarters as quickly as she could. Waiting at the door were Lupin and Black. Black was trying to pull off a casual pose against the wall but Lupin was standing tense, waiting for her.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, "Students aren't supposed to know where teachers' quarters are unless they are heads of house."

Black just shrug and winked at her.

Lupin asked with all the self-righteousness a fifteen-year-old Gryffindor could possess. "Are you okay? Do you really know Headmaster Dumbledore's friend? Do we need to..." he struggled for the best word for what he wanted.

Black didn't. "Rescue you? Save you? Prank him? Run him out of the castle? What war were you talking about, anyway? All I can think of is the Muggle one in the forties and, I mean, _he_ might be old enough but you aren't, you can't be. You're a good looking bird."

She cocked her head at him and gave him her best Peggy-Carter-is-going-to-destroy-you look. She'd only ever seen it aimed at her or Michael when they were kids but Peggy had always had a good you're-digging-your-own-grave glare. He stopped rambling and blushed.

She heard the slightest cough echo off the stonework down the abandoned corridor behind them and frowned. "Potter, Pettigrew, come out."

Black and Lupin looked worried that she'd somehow caught their little group even as Potter and Pettigrew stepped out from the corridor. She looked the four of them over and then glanced back down the corridor. She closed her eyes and listened as attentively as she could. Five heartbeats including her own, five bodies breathing. Three rats scurrying down the abandoned hall. A house elf two rooms away humming to herself while she cleaned. Nothing else. She opened her eyes and sighed. The boys were just standing there waiting for her to take house points or give detentions. Instead, she opened her room with a flick of her fingers and said, "Inside, all of you."

All four sets of eyes went wide at her obvious rule-breaking but they obeyed. She shut the door behind them. She cast two Sound-Covering Spells. Potter's eyebrows went up. The others were watching her hands where she'd not pulled a wand despite casting complex spells.

She gestured behind them to the small sitting area and they silently sat. They left her well-worn chair alone and settled around it. She sat and looked at each of them, debating how much to tell them. "I'm fifty-three years old."

"No way!" Black denied immediately. "You can't be, my mum's fifty and you don't look anywhere close to the way she looks and we're Blacks, we age well."

She chuckled lightly. "I went to school with four of the Black heiresses, which one was your mum?"

"Walburga," he answered, wrinkling his nose.

She remembered the younger woman as a demanding, snobby bitch. "Ah, my apologies."

"Which four?" Potter asked.

"You've got Black blood too, don't you?" she asked. As only a subject professor and not a Head of House, she didn't have the authority to look at the student's personal records but she'd been curious.

"My mum's Dorea Black Potter."

"Dorea was nice, at least. Lu was the sweetest, though, and didn't mind hanging out with us Gryffindors."

"Lu? Aunt Lucretia? No wonder Mum doesn't like her."

"She didn't like her in school either," she said but shook her head. She didn't bring them into her rooms to reminisce. "I didn't bring up my age to gossip with you. I brought it up to tell you that I participated in the Muggles' war in the forties. I was a spy for the Allies, the British."

She was met with a chorus of "Really?" and "That's far out!"

She continued but their reaction did put a smile on her face. "Did none of you notice what August called me? Hermine? My name's Millie."

"Wait," Lupin said, his eyebrows furrowing deeply on his forehead. "You wouldn't have mentioned being a spy if you didn't mean..."

"He was on the other side, right?" Pettigrew asked, quiet as a mouse.

"Correct. I said and agreed to things as Hermine Gravois, French Muggle heiress, that I did not feel or want as Millie Carter. I disappeared shortly after retrieving what I needed and... might have not have expected to ever see him again."

"Wait, you pretended to be a Muggle?" Potter asked curiosity and confusion warring on his face.

"Yes. Witches and Wizards weren't allowed to be a part of the war. Those of us who didn't agree with that and wanted to fight for our country did what we had to. I wasn't the only one, on either side. At the time, I did not know that August Pohl was a wizard." She wasn't sure why she was telling this, except that his being a wizard unnerved her. She didn't want anything to happen to these boys if they decided to target the older wizard.

"Wow," Black muttered.

"I want you to be careful. I don't know how long he plans to stay. I don't know how he knows Headmaster Dumbledore. Solely judging on his nationality, I'd say he went to Durmstrang. Don't trust him. Stay away from him."

"But you got really upset at seeing him, Professor Carter," Lupin said, trying to justify their offer to chase August out of the castle.

"I did but you needn't concern yourself with it. I'm a competent witch who can take care of herself, I don't need four fifteen-year-olds—"

"I'm sixteen!" Black interrupted.

She raised an eyebrow at him and his cheekbones turned a faint shade of pink. "As I was saying, I don't need four boys to stand between me and him. We have history, he'll want to talk about it, maybe insist on me keeping my word. Whatever he thought we had, it's been thirty years. I have no problem explaining myself to him now. Do you understand?"

She expected that she might have to give them an incentive to stay out of whatever might boil up between her and August but they shared a look between the four of them and then turned to her at once and nodded their agreement. Black raised a finger and said, "As long as you ask for help with pranking him out of the castle if you need it."

She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes at him but smiled and nodded. "You crazy boys. All right," she stood and gestured for them to head back toward the door. Before she opened it, she listened again for anything to suggest she was being eavesdropped on. When she deemed it safe, she opened it and ushered them out.

Hermione braced her back on the door when it was closed behind them and breathed deeply to try and calm her nerves. She rubbed her fingers over her temples. What did August's presence now, at Dumbledore's invitation, mean?

* . * . *

**26 December 1975**

The following day, August caught up with her in an unused corridor as she was trying to slip away from the Great Hall after lunch without speaking to anyone. The low ring her wand gave off was muffled by her clothes as he pulled her into a secret passage behind a tapestry and lit his wand so he could see her face. She'd forgotten how tall he was and even in his nineties, he still towered over her. "I know what you are, Mildred," he whispered to her. Hermione held her breath and waited. What secret did he think he knew? "I have Muggle siblings too, you know."

"I know. Oswald was a Muggle."

He grimaced at her. "You shouldn't be allowed to speak his name. You ruined him. The Führer stripped him of his post after you destroyed everything."

"I destroyed everything? I don't remember you being around when they were trying to burn me at the stake!"

He laughed and it sounded cruel and burnt at the edges. "Did you truly not notice? 'Igne' was nervous, wasn't she? You didn't hear me leave?"

She swallowed, trying hard to remember exactly what happened in Austria thirty years ago. She had killed a dozen people with accidental magic. She couldn't have identified bodies as there wasn't much left of them. Bile threatened to choke her at the memory.

"I want to know your real secret."

"I don't know what you mean," she said. He knew her deepest secret. She was Muggle-born. So was he. It wasn't worth much as far as secrets went. The only family she had left was in the United States.

He smiled a little and leaned further into her space. As if he'd read her mind, he said, "I tried to destroy your sister's career years ago, you know. I blamed the massacre at Katzing on her since I couldn't find you. M. Carter was the only survivor. It was easy. I even killed an SSR agent to try and frame her. It worked, she no longer works for the SSR."

Hermione knew she didn't work for the SSR anymore. It no longer existed. She ignored his bluff, knowing that even if he did those things, it hadn't affected Peggy's career. She'd gone on to co-found a different organisation. "I still don't know what you're talking about," she said, gambling that if she didn't react to his threat about Peggy he'd leave it alone.

"If you don't tell me your secret, I'll go after her son. Dumbledore tells me he's a fine young wizard. Has a few months left before he leaves Ilvermorny, yes?"

She felt a little blindsided. Steven wasn't a wizard. What was Dumbledore doing spreading that falsehood around? "What secret?" she asked, baffled.

"Your immortality, darling, what else would I possibly want from you?"

But it was Lord Voldemort who was interested in immortality, not Dumbledore. How and why was August involved? He obviously knew Dumbledore well enough to get that bluff about Steven from him but why? Was Dumbledore also seeking immortality? Did all men about that age start worrying about the inevitable darkening, the wintering of their lives? Or was this something else?

"I don't have a secret, August, I don't know what to tell you," she said. The lie was easy enough and everything else went behind the blackness of her Occlumency.

He grit his teeth and his fists clenched against her shoulders. The sound of footsteps broke the silence and stalled August's next attempt to threaten the truth out of her. His eyes widened, he lowered his wand and cut off the light. He bent his head as if he were planning to kiss her like this was some secret tryst. The tapestry moved out of the way, illuminating them and showing off the two students—Potter and Black—just as she ducked under August's arm.

"It's been thirty years, August. I don't return your affections; you know I never did." Both boys looked up almost too wide-eyed like they were pretending to be shocked to have caught the two of them. Hermione was thankful for their intrusion. She didn't turn around to see the look on August's face at her declaration and she stepped into the corridor with the boys. "Where are you two going? Don't you have a Defense essay to work on?" She asked even as Potter let the tapestry drop. She gave them a small smile.

"Oh, right, yes, ma'am," Potter said, exaggeratedly. She rolled her eyes and gestured they head off in a different direction. "Yeah, Okay. Come on, Padfoot," he said, tapping Black on the chest and darting off down the corridor to the next secret passage.

She hastened to her rooms to try and untangle all her thoughts. When dinner came around she was grateful to learn that August would be leaving before the new year. She didn't speak with him before he left.

* . * . *

**17 June 1976**

Hermione could feel her anger in her pulse as she followed Potter and Black up the stairs to the Headmaster's office. She'd finally caught them in their pranking the Snape boy and it was worse than she had thought. They had no business even threatening to pull the other boy's pants off while they hung him up in the air. He'd been spitting mad and embarrassed and fled as soon as she'd arrived.

Once in the tower office, a look was enough to have both boys sitting down with their heads bowed. She wondered how long they'd practised that 'I'm ashamed' look.

"What can I do for you, Miss Carter?" Dumbledore said, even as his eyes lingered over the two boys. "Have our boys been misbehaving again?"

"I caught them threatening to remove another boy's pants and expose him while he hung upside down in the air. I feel this matter requires something with more gravitas than a detention," Hermione said, standing in front of his desk with her arms crossed. She thought they'd matured since the beginning of the year under her tutelage. It seemed they had not.

Dumbledore nodded with a little frown tugging at his lips. Hermione wondered if he thought it made him look sagely and disappointed. "Surely it was just in fun, Mildred. How did the other boy come to be in the air? Where they simply not sparring with friends and it got a little out of hand?"

"Considering the other boy was Mr Snape and their rivalry is well-known in the school, I can assure you that it wasn't friendly sparring." She argued. Both boys were sitting with their mouths closed but she hadn't expected otherwise. She'd told them to not speak another word and she hadn't lifted that edict.

"Boys will be boys, Mildred. The way they rile one another up is always going to be a little rougher than how girls play, you understand. I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding, wasn't it boys?"

The nervous, ashamed look had slipped from both of their faces and they were both smiling at the headmaster as he gave them an out. "Yes, Headmaster. It was just a bit of fun. We weren't going to actually take his pants off," Potter answered. Out of the corner of his mouth, he half-whispered to Black, "Who'd want to see that anyway?"

Black coughed to try and stifle a chuckle. "We weren't going to hurt anyone, Miss Carter. Snape always fights back—sometimes with borderline Dark Arts spells—we just happened to get the upper hand this time."

A younger version of Hermione would probably have wanted to argue, to shout about how their behaviour wasn't just good fun but she could tell by the indulgent smile on Dumbledore's face that she'd already lost. She doubted she'd even be able to salvage a detention for each of them with the way this conversation had gone. "Fifty points from Gryffindor for letting your pranks and sparring get to that point. No one's clothes should come off nor should threats like that be made."

"And fifteen points to Gryffindor, each, for getting the upper hand with superior duelling skills. You're dismissed," Dumbledore said. He shared a smile with the boys and they jumped up from the couch and playfully shoved one another as they rushed out the door. It shut softly behind them.

"'Boys will be boys,' Albus? Really? And rewarding them for it? This is the first time I've caught them in the act but I know they've been tormenting that boy all school year and you let them off with a reward?" She shook her head. "I've tried my best to reach out to Snape, to show him that he has other options that being _recruited_ despite his initial distrust of me solely for being a Gryffindor. Rewarding Gryffindors for bad behaviour and showing favouritism like that just drives the wedge between houses deeper."

He tipped his head down and looked at her over his half-moon spectacles. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. They worked well together and overcame an opponent. If things continue as they are, those two boys might make a great Auror team and then they won't be pranking their enemies but actually fighting." He leaned forward and opened a crystal sweets dish on his desk, he raised his eyebrows in an offer for her to take one but she shook her head. "There are some boys, like Snape, that you can't save. Lord Voldemort is a great manipulator, always has been, and a single year isn't enough to persuade children like Snape to even a neutral position. Perhaps you'd like to stay on another year?"

Hermione knew that being a teacher and trying to subtly sway students away from the Dark Lord wasn't working and his words only reiterated it. If she couldn't stop them from recruiting students, then maybe she'd do better closer in. "No, thank you. One year was enough. Classes are over now that the students have taken the Defense OWLs and NEWTs. The other years' exams are already scored and returned. I believe I'm done here."

He looked unhappy but resigned. "Very well. Will you be staying to see the students off?"

She thought of trying to hunt down Snape to talk with him, or to find Potter and Black to try talking with them again about their behaviour but she doubted her words would have much success. The former would be too mad and embarrassed and the latter two had already had their behaviour endorsed by the headmaster. "No, I think I'll return home tonight, see if Aberforth and Lettie have any stew leftover."

He frowned deeply like he didn't understand her affinity for his brother but nodded, effectively dismissing her as well. She wasted no time in packing her things and leaving the castle.


	18. Chapter 18

**24 December 1976**

Lord Voldemort hadn't seemed bothered by Hermione's resignation from the post at Hogwarts. He had asked if she would mind offering her time advising him if he needed. The request had felt too perfect—she'd wanted to get closer to him—but without much aside from her gut instinct to go on, she accepted.

He had only called on her two or three times over the summer and autumn to discuss different ways of infiltrating the Ministry of Magic and the Department of Mysteries. She had shared her information, about how even without recognising faces or knowing names, workers would recognise height and build and typically repeated behaviours. She had suggested spying be done via small Animagus, like an insect. His eyebrows had raised and his red eyes had shone with intrigue. "You wouldn't happen to be an insect Animagus, would you?" he'd asked.

"No."

"Pity."

Now, as she handed off her cloak to the house-elf at the door of the Lestrange manse where Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange were hosting a Christmas party for the Dark Lord's followers and associates, Hermione understood how she had been allowed into a more intimate relationship with Voldemort. Socialising with Randolph Lestrange was August Pohl. It seemed he hadn't returned home when he left Hogwarts. She should have known he wouldn't leave things alone. He hadn't got what he wanted from her yet.

Her wand rang a low sustained tone and she brushed her fingers along it to calm it. She'd finally sent post to Mr Ollivander asking for an explanation and he'd said that a low musical tone was typical for that core type when the wand's owner was around danger. She wondered who it was warning her about at this party. Likely every single person there was dangerous in some way. She picked up a glass of wine from a passing house-elf to give herself something to hold while she mingled. She first sought out the recruited students that were in attendance. Regulus Black and Rabastan Lestrange greeted her as Professor Carter. She asked after their lessons, curious if her replacement was preparing them sufficiently for their OWLs at the end of the spring term. Their assessment of her replacement was summed up with, "It's not you. Won't you come back?" She stepped away from them with a smile on her face and had a single moment to herself before Lord Voldemort swept close to her.

He towered over her as he manoeuvred her arm to tuck over his and casually led her to another grouping. The elders Black. She recognised their similar features. "Mildred, do you remember Walburga Black?" he asked her, "I believe you went to school with her."

"I do remember her," Hermione answered, smiling at the foul woman. She was just as tall as her husband, another Black from the look of him, and the wrinkles at her eyes and mouth told of more frowns than smiles in her past. Her paper-thin skin was pale even through her make-up and her eyes were lined with kohl so thick it reminded Hermione of drag queens and prostitutes. Age had definitely left a mark on her.

She appraised Hermione with her nose tipped up. "Mildred? I don't believe I know a Mildred."

"Carter," Hermione offered. She tipped her head and hoped the look of challenge came through in her gaze, "I was in Gryffindor like your son."

If Walburga were to frown any harder, Hermione was sure the woman's face might break. "I only count the one in Slytherin. Have you met Regulus, the heir to the House of Black?"

"I have, actually. I taught him Defense Against the Dark Arts last year," she said. She turned her attention to the man standing next to Walburga. "I don't believe we've met, however."

He gave her a perfunctory smile that didn't reach his eyes. She had a feeling he hadn't truly smiled in decades. "Orion Black. You wouldn't have spoken to Sirius lately, have you?"

Her brow furrowed, "No, I haven't. Not since school ended last year in July. Why?"

"He ran away from—"

"Orion!" Walburga snapped, "She doesn't need to hear about our wayward son's antics. I'm sure she and the Dark Lord have many others to speak with here."

Lord Voldemort was watching them with calculating eyes but intervened when expected. "Yes, I do have several more people to introduce to you." He gently guided her away from the unhappy couple towards the young Lestrange that had recruited her. He was standing with another statuesque woman who was bound to be a Black, or at least related to the family. Her spiralling curls were pulled up in a way that reminded Hermione of Victorian or Edwardian paintings rather than the more relaxed, loose waves of the current youth of the generation and her grey eyes were sharp and intelligent. "I believe you have met Rodolphus Lestrange but not his wife," the Dark Lord said, "Mildred Carter meet the lovely Bellatrix, our hostess this evening. Bellatrix, this is Mildred Carter. She and I attended Hogwarts together."

He had said it a bit louder than necessary and Hermione could hear other groups of people starting to whisper about what he'd said. Bellatrix's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Hermione and then offered her a smile that was more predatory than salutation. "Charmed," Bellatrix said, sounding anything but. From the gleeful glint in Lord Voldemort's gaze as Bellatrix shared a look with him, Hermione had a feeling she was not going to get along very well with this woman, whom by her name alone announced her heritage as a child of the House of Black.

"How do you do?" Hermione replied as she was expected. Bellatrix answered with a trite response as someone approached them.

"My Lord," August said. Hermione turned quickly to see him even though he hadn't addressed her.

"Ah, yes, I have a new friend, August Pohl. Your fiancé, yes?"

Hermione about choked on her tongue. She didn't glance around but she could feel the many other party-goers start to stare and whisper about that too. She wondered what Lord Voldemort's plan was with this. What did he gain from sharing the fact that they went to school together or that this elderly wizard was her intended husband? Did Pohl's reputation lend her credit or ruin it? Her biggest worry was the way many of the women were looking at her as if she held the secret to vitality. How many of these witches were going to attempt to weasel into her good graces to get at her supposed secret?

She flattened her lips in what could pass as a smile but was obviously not. "August knows how I feel."

"Yes, of course," he said, ushering her towards August, "but perhaps you should speak on it privately. Bellatrix has a room set aside for privacy. August knows where it is. Don't be too long, though, Bellatrix's meals are spectacular." He smiled and released his grip on her, neatly depositing her into August's company. She wouldn't be able to put distance between them without everyone taking notice.

August laid his hand over hers on his arm and guided her past all the gossiping groups. They strolled down a hallway off the parlour and he escorted her into a sitting room at the far end of the corridor. She pulled her arm from his grasp before the door was fully shut and strode across the room.

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want, Hermine."

"Yes, yes, some ridiculous notion that I have gained immortality," she said flippantly. She rubbed her fingers together and cast a silent spell, letting her gaze travel along the decorous room until her spell illuminated two people behind a hidden partition. Of course, someone would be listening. Did they think she was an amateur? She sighed in exaggerated exasperation before shaking her head. "I have not. Perhaps I just have good genes. Aren't the Blacks known for their looks even into their old age?"

He gave her a look that said he didn't believe her at all and she didn't expect him to. Walburga Black was a fine example that the Blacks didn't hold their age as much as she'd been led to believe. "I'm sure your life in Hogsmeade is lonely and quaint," he said, walking closer to her, "talking with a simple-minded barkeep who lets his goats have the run of the place."

She took the easy bait only because she wanted to see what he'd say in response. "Aberforth isn't simple-minded. He's far from it."

"Ah. I just remember him as a simpering third-year. I'm sure he's gained something resembling intelligence since then." He rolled his eyes and shook his head like he didn't actually believe what he was saying. "Don't you wish for something _more_? Something grand and lavish? With friends surrounding you? Something I promised you long ago?" He strolled towards the other door in the room as he talked, one that led to a bedroom. It seemed that he, too, knew that they were being observed. She remembered quite clearly his promise that he wouldn't expect intimacy between them. Whoever was listening must not be privy to that information.

"Something you destroyed," she answered, standing her ground.

"I didn't destroy them. You did. I had to console my brother as he scraped his beloved's pieces from the grass."

"How'd he know whose was whose?" she taunted. She took a deep breath and moved towards the door that led back to the party now that he'd moved away from it. "I don't want anything from you, August, except to be left alone. I enjoy my quiet, _quaint_ life in Hogsmeade." If he thought she was living in poverty and filth, she wouldn't disabuse him of the notion. She opened the door and returned to the party without another word to him.

She mingled a bit more and when dinner was called took her arranged seat next to him. She refused to speak to him at all throughout dinner. She smiled to herself when it obviously irritated him and he was short-tempered the rest of the evening.

* . * . *

_**Late June 1943** _

_This was the second letter Hermione had received from Peggy in the last week._

_The first letter had seemed a simple correspondence but something about it had nigged at Hermione's mind all night after she read it. In the morning, she had reread the letter and noticed something odd on the back bottom corner. A symbol. Suddenly it all clicked and Hermione realised that there was a secret message hidden within the first. The symbol was something that they'd created when they were children, even before Hermione had gone to Hogwarts. It was a simple cypher—anyone at Bletchley would be able to decode it in an instant—except no one would have thought to without that personal little clue Peggy had left._

_Peggy's first letter had been about being a part of a new, secret division within the American government. There was a project to create a perfect soldier, one more powerful than a typical man. To create an army of them. It was forbidden for her to speak of it, of course, but that wasn't everything. The man they had selected for the procedure had the heart of a lion, was good and honest. Peggy confessed that she had a crush on him, weak and small and stubborn and reckless as he was._

_The second letter told the rest of the story. That the procedure had been successful in that they had made this man into a perfect soldier but there wouldn't be an army. The scientist in charge of "Project Rebirth" had been killed shortly after the procedure and the project was shelved. The serum that had been used had been lost and the secret of the formula gone with the scientist's death. Peggy was to stay with the secret division but all the hopes and optimism regarding the project were gone and the perfect soldier was sent off to inspire the general populace rather than off to the war for which he'd been recruited and made._

_Hermione had thought that was a shame. The Germans were in control of so much territory and their reign was far-reaching and iron-fisted. An army of perfect soldiers seemed like a godsend if only to secure the Allies' survival in the current climate. She didn't think about the complications inherent in such an army. What she did think about was that serum. That formula._

_Could the scientist have been a wizard? What sort of potion, serum, could do something so powerful and permanent to a single person? It nagged at her brain, kept her awake at night when she should have slept, and just generally held her attention more than was good for her._

_In a moment of her own recklessness, Hermione decided to Portkey to the United States and investigate the serum. Surely there had to be remnants that she could use to recreate it._

_The Portkey was illegal, of course, but creating it in a backroom of The Leaky Cauldron before slipping back into the Muggle side of the city covered her tracks well enough. The Aurors that tracked Portkey creation and usage weren't nearly as diligent as those that worked in conjunction with the Obliviation team._

_Hermione had only a little trouble moving through New York City. Pretending to be Peggy Carter rather than Mildred wasn't that difficult especially for people who had only ever heard the name rather than met the woman. She slipped through the security with a little help from her magic and found the last remnants of an iridescent blue potion in a locked laboratory. There were only two test tubes with a few millilitres in either and Hermione took one and left a replica. The potion inside the replica wouldn't be viable but she didn't particularly care. She returned to London the same day she left and locked herself in the flat she usually shared with Peggy._

_She used Golpalott's Third Law but modified it to recreate the original potion rather than find an antidote. By the time dawn broke over the city, Hermione was exhausted and in possession of a magical equivalent of a super soldier serum. From her work, she could tell that the original hadn't been magical at all, disproving her theory that the scientist had been a wizard. She poured the luminescent blue potion into an unbreakable glass bottle before tucking it away in a secret cupboard behind the medicine cabinet in the bathroom._

_Five months later, when she qualified for field work, Hermione tucked the beautiful blue, experimental potion into her potions kit along with her Dittany and Invigoration Draughts. She didn't plan to use it, of course, but she didn't want to leave it in case Peggy found the hidden latch hiding the cupboard.  
_

* . * . *

**24 December 1976**

Before Hermione left the Christmas party that evening, Lord Voldemort made one last request for a private conversation. She didn't doubt that when he claimed privacy this time, he actually intended it. He took her to the same sitting room and took a seat at the plush burgundy velvet armchair near the crackling fire. He gestured for her to sit opposite him with a raised hand and she sat.

"What is it you need?" she asked. She had rarely addressed him as 'my Lord' like his other underlings and he didn't correct her this time either.

He smiled at her, his red eyes shining brighter in the dim light. No one ever seemed to mention how odd their colour and Hermione wondered if perhaps she was seeing through a glamour. His face was still handsome as he'd been in school, despite the unsettling eye colour, though it held signs of his age.

"That's something I've always liked about you, Mildred, you're very direct. I was merely curious if you had a pleasant evening. August, in particular, did not look the part of a happily reunited lover as I had envisioned by the end of the evening. In fact, he seemed the opposite. Have you spurned his affection?"

She leaned back and wondered at the game that was being played. Did Voldemort know August's history? Did he realise that the man was close friends with Dumbledore? Was August playing spy for Dumbledore, as well, then? She took a gamble with how much August would have shared with him. "I would think jilting him thirty years ago would be more than enough evidence to how distasteful I find his affections."

He huffed in something like a laugh and tipped his head slightly to look at her from a different angle. "You have put up quite the flight from him. Thirty years... He must have thought he'd found your doppelgänger when he first saw you, looking just as young, beautiful, and spirited as he must have seen you when he asked for your hand."

She had a theory that Pohl knew of her whereabouts because of Dumbledore.

He hummed. "I could dispose of him for you if you share your secret? I have a secret or two of my own, you know, things I learned in Albania, secrets that require special guarding."

"I have no secrets, my Lord," she said, honeying her words. "And if he intends to push his affections, I have no problem killing him myself." She stood and straightened her skirt. A flicker of irritation passed across his features before he softened them to look disappointed at her actions. "I had an interesting Christmas, thank you for the invitation, but it's getting late and I am an old woman. I'd like to be in my bed before the night turns into tomorrow."

He stood and reached for her hand, leaving a kiss against the back of it. His lips were cold and dry against her skin. "It was a pleasure, Mildred. Thank you for joining me. I'm sure I'll call on you soon, my dear."

She nodded and left the room, retrieving her cloak from the house-elf at the door before she departed the mansion.


	19. Chapter 19

**19 February 1977**

Lord Voldemort called for her in February. She and her partner were meant to stake out the Ministry exits. She was tasked with identifying an Unspeakable that worked in the time division from their build alone. At that point her partner was meant to approach the Unspeakable, talk with them and persuade them to support the Dark Lord.

Her partner was not the most persuasive of her brethren and Hermione doubted the success of the operation as soon as she saw who she was meant to work with. Bellatrix Lestrange was neither patient nor persuasive unless one thought torture was a viable persuasion technique. Hermione could have offered first-hand advice that it wasn't. She didn't, of course.

Instead, she settled down in a comfortable spot and watched the Ministry exit as she was supposed to. She hoped that any of the Unspeakables she might identify would be competent duellers, at least. While they waited, Bellatrix decided that she would flaunt her ease with the Cruciatus Curse by using it on any insect or animal that came near their stakeout spot. On several occasions, Hermione sent quick-burst Animal Repellant Spells from her fingertips in order to keep stray dogs and cats away. She still had to unhappily pretend that the squeaks of pain from chipmunks, squirrels, and birds didn't bother her. She learned that even if beetles and spiders may not verbalise their pain, the telegraphed it with jerky movements and twitchy limbs. The number of dead things around their hiding place outside the Ministry would have even given Muggles pause, had Hermione not laid down Muggle-Repelling Spells when they first arrived.

Finally, as the employees of the Ministry started to trickle from the exit, Bellatrix decided that her visual threats and boasting weren't enough. She leaned over to whisper into Hermione's ear, "I don't care how old you are, you know. The Dark Lord sees me as his future queen. An old hag has-been like you is nothing. He knows the most forbidden magic, something that grants him power you couldn't possibly imagine. Whatever you've done to cease your ageing is nothing in comparison. And he trusts me more than he'll ever trust you. You may have known him as a young man but he is so much more than he was."

"I'm sure," Hermione agreed without so much as glancing in her direction. She'd been projecting boredom for the last three hours as Bellatrix tortured the menagerie around them and she didn't plan on breaking the illusion anytime soon.

A petite woman with short brown hair stepped out of the exit. As Hermione had done with every other witch or wizard leaving, she compared her with what she remembered of each of the Unspeakables in the time division. This was the woman who had caught her snooping and had her fired. Hermione held no ill-will towards her and hoped for her sake that she was good with her wand. "There's one," she said, gesturing with a tip of her chin at the petite Unspeakable.

Bellatrix stood and stalked forward, giggling a little at finally being able to do her part of the mission. Thankfully, she Disapparated with the woman and Hermione didn't have to watch the horror she had just allowed to happen. As she cleaned up the dead animals around her she let her mind wander to Captain Rogers. She wondered what it would have been like to be a soldier rather than a spy. Would sending someone to their likely death have been any easier?

* . * . *

Hermione brushed the dust off the box she had pulled from the back of her closet. It was a paper-sized flat box with an Undetectable Extension Charm on it where she kept copies of every file or journal she had ever laid her hands on during the war. She never had a need to return to these records but she'd kept them when she moved from Flourish and Blotts to Hogsmeade anyway.

Something Bellatrix had said about Lord Voldemort and forbidden, powerful magic had tickled at her brain for hours after they separated. Hermione couldn't concentrate to even read the Charms periodical that had been delivered that evening at dinner.

Sitting on top of the pile were several photographs that Peggy had acquired for her after the war. There was one of her and Peggy in their SOE and SSR uniforms. There was another of all of the 107th tactical team together and two others—Captain Rogers's and Sergeant Barnes's army photographs. She let her fingers hover over the picture of Bucky. It had faded and yellowed a little even without exposure to sunlight. He looked so young and though Hermione didn't look as old as she was, as she felt, she had the inexplicable feeling of looking at someone too young for what he went through.

After a moment, she set the photographs aside and flipped through the other things in the box. First were the short coded missives from Antoine Molyneux that she hadn't been able to decipher before. A quick glance at the neat letters now showed her a simple code that she could crack without even needing to write it down. They were pleas to an unknown source, most likely a corrupted member of the Nazi party, asking for more time to pay his debts. The response indicated that he couldn't keep pretending that his grandmother wasn't Jewish. She wondered what happened to him but didn't care enough to delve into research regarding him.

She had plenty of papers and files from the Pohl's home and their records regarding Mauthausen that she flipped past. At the bottom of the box, she found what she was looking for. A small, notebook with thin, cramped German. She could read it now. She carried it to her armchair by her fireplace, flicked on the lamp, and started at the beginning.

Most of what she found were notes regarding Magical Theory, wand movements and pronunciations, and a shorthand of typical offensive and defensive spells. It read like it was a seventh-year student's notes in Dark Arts and Defense from Durmstrang. She flipped further along until she came to the passage she had originally thought had related to Project Rebirth and the super soldier serum.

What she found was something completely different. It was about something called a Horcrux.

_A Horcrux is an object of significance in which the wizard seeking immortality places a portion of his soul. As long as the object remains intact and undamaged, the soul remains and tethers the wizard to life. This is considered forbidden magic, even to the darkest of wizards, and seekers of immortality should keep the object close in case they later decide that they'd rather not be tethered to the world. In order to create a Horcrux, a wizard must fragment the soul with murder then use the following spells to extract a portion of fragmented soul and store it within his chosen object._

Hermione lowered the journal to her lap and looked into her empty fireplace. As she allowed her mind to recall every interaction she had had with Lord Voldemort or his followers, she wondered at how she had not come across the term 'Horcrux' before. Surely she would have found some reference to it in the Hogwarts library? Except, if Dumbledore was aware of them and curious about immortality as she thought he might be, would he have left books that referenced Horcruxes for others to find? She doubted it.

She returned her attention to the journal, flipping the page and skimming the spells until she found more notes.

_If a wizard with a Horcrux is killed their body will no longer be able to host the tethered soul. A rudimentary potion recipe below may help the stranded wizard find rebirth into a new body. The wizard would need help from others, as souls cannot typically manifest physically in order to manipulate the corporeal world._

_Note: possession of a Horcrux does not increase magical prowess. It is thought that 'the power' the older tomes refer to is politically amassed from living longer than the average wizard of good health._

Hermione sighed. Was this the secret the Dark Lord had hinted at having? Would he have really given Bellatrix Lestrange a Horcrux to hold for him in case he was killed? Did she even know where to find a proper rebirthing recipe? She shuddered at the thought of what would happen if a recipe like that weren't crafted by a master. Disfigurement, surely, but would it affect the stability of the mind as well? She didn't want to find out.

She stood and gathered up all the items except the journal and returned them to the box. She supposed she had some investigating to do.

* . * . *

Hogwarts was thought to have one of the most well-rounded libraries in the country and if she hadn't found anything about Horcruxes there, it was likely she needed to look to resources outside of Britain. She wrote letters to the Salem Witches' Institute and the headmaster of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic asking for resources regarding the Dark Arts and Dark Artefacts. A woman named Elspeth Pope from the Salem Witches' Institute responded to her query and invited her to their library in Massachusetts to access all of their materials for her research.

She packed a bag, locked and booby-trapped her house, and took a legal Portkey to the United States through the Ministry of Magic. Elspeth Pope received her at the Institute promptly. She was a warm, older woman with blonde hair that wisped around her face under her navy blue witch's hat. "I've already set up a room for your stay, Miss Carter," she said, gesturing down a long corridor of the university building. "I'll take you to your room and after dinner, I can take you to our library."

"I didn't expect boarding and meals provided," Hermione said.

"We try to provide the basics for any witch seeking aid and education. Though, truth be told, not very many come seeking information regarding Dark Artefacts. I fear we may not have what you need. You said it was for research purposes, yes?"

"I was the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher for a year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and I realised I needed more varied resources before I return for a second year. I want to give my students the best education I can."

"That's an honourable goal," Elspeth said. She pulled a key up from her silver chatelaine and unlocked a door that led to a small sitting room and bedroom. "While you're here, you can use the typical Locking and Unlocking Charms on your door. We don't want to impose on your privacy though we retain the right to open your door if you don't answer after a week of isolation. I'll let you get settled and I'll retrieve you for dinner in an hour. Feel free to explore the grounds and any unlocked rooms you come across." She smiled again and stepped away, hustling down the hall in the opposite direction than they had come.

Hermione unpacked her clothes from her suitcase and checked for listening spells and secret passages while she waited for Elspeth to retrieve her for dinner. She supposed she could explore the grounds, as her host had suggested, but she was eager to get started in the library. She needed to find as much as she could about Horcruxes, specifically how to identify them and destroy them. Concurrently with that, she needed to plan how she would seek out Lord Voldemort's Horcrux. She wasn't convinced that he would have given it to the young, blood-thirsty Bellatrix. He'd also said 'secrets,' plural, and Hermione was too much a lover of language to not let that go unchecked. She may find he had more than one. She wouldn't put it past him, especially if his source for learning about them had hinted at increased power as her source had dismissed.

Soon enough, Elspeth came to get her for dinner. Dinner was held in a large dining hall in another building. It wasn't as large as Hogwarts's Great Hall but it was a lovely example of Gothic Revival architecture. There were a handful of women scattered around a few different tables and Elspeth introduced Hermione to the women at one of them. Most of them were younger and Hermione looked like she fit in with them. She wondered if she'd looked her age if she would have been seated with the obvious older scholars with their greying hair and reading glasses dangling from beaded chains around their necks.

It didn't matter to Hermione. She easily chatted with her table partners and learned that many of the younger witches were from families who wanted to pressure them into marriages they didn't want. One was fleeing an abusive husband. They were witches from around the world. Hermione was glad the Institute was a resource and a haven for them. When asked her story, she might have embellished a little by saying she was there for research but she too was fleeing a marriage she didn't want. She just didn't mention that her engagement to August was thirty years in the past and as a spy under a false name.

When dinner was over, Elspeth asked Hermione if she needed to return to her rooms for anything before going to the library. Hermione declined and was led to a spacious library with large stained glass windows that left brilliant patches of blue, red, and gold across the walls and floor from the setting sun. She smiled and breathed deeply the smell of books and parchment. Who knew libraries around the world smelled like home? Her guide showed her the rudimentary sorting system and left her alone to get started with her work.

It took her all evening before she found the sorts of books that might have even a veiled reference to Horcruxes. She returned early in the morning after a cup of tea to delve into the stack of ancient and dusty books she'd gathered the night before. Three days of reading in any spare moment except when she stopped to eat and sleep had her stack of potential sources down to three slim volumes written by a rumoured necromancer from New Orleans at the turn of the previous century.

The language was difficult to decipher with inconsistent spellings and a butchered mix of French and Spanish. She had just finished taking notes on the destruction of a Horcrux when Elspeth spoke softly from beside her. "Millie?"

Hermione blinked and looked up, noticing that the candles had burned low and guttered themselves. She looked at Elspeth who was looking nervously at her stack of notated parchment and the anthropodermic books. "You missed dinner, Millie," she said and her fingers reached out to touch one of the books like her curiosity had got the better of her. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I have," she said, taking note of her hunger. "Do you think there are any leftovers from dinner? I shouldn't have missed the meal but I just got so caught up in..." she gestured down at the books, "...well."

Elspeth's smile wasn't as bright as the one she typically offered Hermione but it seemed genuine, nonetheless. "I understand getting lost in a book..." she glanced down at the books and swallowed visibly. "Yes, I'm sure the elves can provide you with something for the missed meal."

"Great. I'll just set these here for tomorrow morning. I think one more day with them and I'll have gathered everything I needed." Hermione stood and set the three books in a neat stack at the corner of the table she'd been using all week. She half expected Elspeth's discomfort to translate into the books being gone in the morning but she had read through them entirely once already and was on a second reread for notes. She would be fine. She rolled her notes and tucked them into a pocket of her robes.

Elspeth accompanied her to the dining hall and the kitchen in the back where a small group of house-elves were cleaning up. "Would any of you mind making something for Millie? She got so caught up with a book that she forgot to eat!"

Hermione smiled at the sweet little elves who came running. She asked for something simple but filling. They scrambled to help her, one leading her to a small table in the kitchen and the others using magic to fulfil her request as quickly as possible. "Would you like some company?" Elspeth asked.

"Only if it's not taking you from something else. I'm sure the elves wouldn't mind providing conversation if you'd like to head to bed."

"Well, okay," the elder woman said, "I suppose I will head off to bed then. Goodnight."

"Night," Hermione replied. She asked the elves a few questions as she ate. As they reminded her that she needed to take care of herself she encouraged them to do the same. She did not approve of the typical house-elf slavery she'd been exposed to and was happy to learn that the relationship these elves had with the faculty and staff of the Witches' Institute was a more mutually beneficial arrangement than the typical slave of Britain. House-elf slavery was one of many things that Hermione had ideas about changing but she alone was not enough to demand change, especially for a people who didn't seem to want the freedom she offered.

When she was finished, she bid the elves goodnight and thanked them for their delicious meals and cleaning services in her rooms. They smiled and told her they didn't need to be thanked but they appreciated it anyway. She returned to her rooms and decided that after she finished rereading the third volume in the morning, she would get a Portkey back to Britain in the afternoon. She had the information she needed to detect and destroy any Horcrux she may find.

* . * . *

Once back in Britain, Hermione took a few days to return to her decades-long habit of dining with Aberforth. When she asked after Lettie, he pushed his lips out in a pout and looked down. She'd seen that look before, when Lettie's dam, Maybelle, had died. "I'm sorry I wasn't here, Aberforth."

"Nothing you could do. She lived a good life. Not sure which of her kids I'm going to keep."

"Well, whichever one you choose has to have good taste in stew," she said.

He huffed a little chuckle out of his nose and pulled out a bowl and stein for her. He waited for her quick Cleansing Spells and waved her to her table. It was a nice habit to come home to. At the end of the night, after Hermione had eaten her fill and caught up on her periodical reading, Aberforth joined her at the table.

"So, where'd you get off to for a week?" he asked gruffly.

"I took a vacation. To the United States."

"Hmph. Don't believe you."

She finally looked up at him, closing her magazine and adding it to the small stack she had at the edge of the table. "About the trip or the destination?"

"Your reason. I think you're poking your nose where you shouldn't. Shouldn't have ever got caught up with my brother. He'll be the death of you."

"Aww, Abe, I didn't know you cared." He grunted, the closest she would get to an acknowledgement that he _did_ care. "I went for research." She glanced around, double checking the surroundings before she set up a few anti-eavesdropping spells. "Have you ever heard of a Horcrux?"

His bushy eyebrows drew together. "I... may have read about them as a student. Nothing in-depth. You think my brother has one? I may hate him but I don't think he's..."

She saved him from trying to decide if Albus was capable or willing to create a Horcrux. "No, I don't think he does. I think Tom Riddle... You-Know-Who has one. If Albus knows about it, or even suspects, it could be the reason he's never directly challenged him."

Aberforth's moustache wiggled as he worked over his thoughts. "I don't think he's challenged him because he thinks he'll lose. And that would be bad for everyone."

Her eyebrows raised in disbelief. "He doesn't think he'll win? Really? How would it be bad for everyone? Aside from how much he'd be missed; he is rather politically active."

He scratched his cheek. "He's got the Elder Wand. If that fell into You-Know-Who's hands..."

"My wand's made of elder," Hermione dismissed, "What's that have to—"

But he was shaking his head. "No, Albus has the Elder Wand. The Deathstick? Surely with all you've read, you've come across the myth of the Deathly Hallows."

Hermione felt her skin break into goosebumps and she leaned back into her chair. She had read about them and dismissed them as a ridiculous urban legend. Kruger's words back in '45 made a lot more sense now. He could see her wand was elder but he'd never actually seen the Elder Wand. Her mind spiralled in different directions as she tried to contemplate how this information fit into her plans. Did Voldemort know about the Hallows? Could she use them to her advantage? She realised that Aberforth was looking at her curiously and she nodded. "Yes, I've heard about them. How do you—? Are you sure—?"

He huffed. "He and Grindelwald and Pohl talked about the Hallows. Grindelwald believed in them. Pohl didn't know the legend and dismissed it out of hand; did you know he was a Muggle-born? Last one to exist as far as I'm aware—"

"I'm Muggle-born," she said, wondering at the ease with which she revealed her life-long secret.

He looked appropriately shocked before he took a moment to think. He nodded. "You're an odd duck, Millie. My mother was a Muggle-born too. I don't know what all happened to them. I'm sure you know more, being one, I mean."

She wouldn't reveal the truth of her origins, her forced time travel, but she could still tell him part of the truth. "The Obliviation Team got a lot of work thanks to me over my formative years. When it was time to come to Hogwarts I was told to lie and say I was an orphan."

He studied her and after a moment said, "At least I decided to distance myself from Albus. I'm sorry you didn't have a choice where your family was concerned."

She looked down, touched beyond words at his sympathy. She had had a choice where her family was concerned and she'd made the wrong one. She inhaled deeply, pushing thoughts of Peggy away before looking back up to him. "Do you know where the other Hallows are?"

"I suspect that Potter boy who likes to sneak down to Hogsmeade has the Invisibility Cloak. I've only ever seen him and his friends if they weren't careful coming out from under it but none of the Revealing Spells I know penetrate it." He looked away from her, above and to the side, thinking. "His dad had it too. Regular cloaks lose their effectiveness over time."

She chuckled. "No wonder I could never catch those boys in their pranks. And the stone, do you know about that one?"

He shook his head. "I'm sure if my brother knew he would have already tried to obtain it."

"Why do you hate him so?" She asked, unsure if he felt their friendship was enough to trust her with that.

"He and his friends—Gellert Grindelwald and August Pohl—were planning to break the Statute of Secrecy. Expose the Magical world to the mundane one and take over the mundane one as benevolent wizarding masters. They considered themselves the Triumvirate and they were going to rule together for the Greater Good. They thought Muggles were too ignorant to rule themselves." He shook his head. "I was of the opinion that Albus was needed at home. Our father was gone, our mother had just died. I was fifteen; our sister was fourteen. Albus and I got into an argument about it; a duel started. Gellert and August got involved. Ariana rushed out and was hit with a curse. It was one of Albus's signature spells." He shook his head and looked down at the table.

The knowledge that both Albus and August had wanted the same thing as Grindelwald shocked her but she focused on showing her appreciation for his moment of vulnerability. "I'm sorry."

He swallowed and returned his attention to her, nodding. "I take it you're going to go after Riddle's Horcrux then?" he said, bringing the topic of conversation back around.

"I intend to, yes," she answered.

"Be careful. I may not be Albus or a mediwizard but that doesn't mean I'm a dunce. Come to me if you need me."

"I will. Thank you."

He cleared his throat and stood. "Enough chit chat. I'm an old man and I'm going to bed. Do I need to kick you out?"

She stood, automatically cleaning her dishes and sending them their homes underneath the bar with a flick of her fingers. "No, I think a night's sleep sounds wonderful. Goodnight, Abe, and thanks for dinner." She picked up her periodicals and left, breathing in the cold March air and letting it calm her mind on her walk back to her cottage.

* . * . *

**7 March 1977**

Hermione decided to start delving into Riddle's life by investigating his past. She slipped into Hogwarts through one of the secret passages from Hogsmeade and made her way to the Deputy Headmistress's office. She was fortunate enough to catch Minerva McGonagall during one of her breaks and she welcomed Hermione with a smile.

"Good to see you again, Millie."

"Good to see you as well, Minerva. I was wondering if I could access some student records."

Her eyebrows narrowed. "That privilege is restricted to Heads of House. I know you know that."

"For current students, yes. I'd like to have a look at a few students who attended in the thirties." Hermione didn't elaborate but she knew Minerva was aware of her age. She'd let the other witch come to the conclusion that she wanted to see her own records or that of her fellow classmates.

"Oh, yes, that's fine. Here, the filing room in just down the hall." She turned and led Hermione along the corridor to the Room of Records. It was one of the very few doors in Hogwarts that had a little wooden placard on the door announcing what it was. Minerva unlocked the door but it stuck and she had to push her weight against it to get it to budge. When it gave, it kicked up a cloud of dust. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and covered her mouth and nose. "It's amazing how thick the dust gets even when it's accessed at least once every year." She sneezed delicately despite her handkerchief. "Dust bothers my sinuses something awful. You don't need me, do you?"

"No, thanks. I've got it from here."

"Good. Lock it behind you when you're done. I've got O.W.L. students next and I swear, sometimes they're worse than firsties when it comes to accidents. Especially this close to exams," she said. She nodded and departed, leaving Hermione looking at the long room of filing cabinets. At least she could trust this room to be immensely more organised than the one in the time division in the Department of Mysteries.

She didn't find much in regards to Tom Riddle's home life. He was listed as an orphan. She noted the name and address of the orphanage he was said to have lived and decided that would be her first stop.

She visited the address in the small hours of the morning and was pleased to find it still standing. She broke in, found their records office, and looked for information regarding Tom Riddle. Around four in the morning, she could hear a few of the workers starting to get ready for the day. She finished reading the page she held and made duplicates of everything. She tucked her copies in her coat pocket and replaced everything where she'd found it. She would go home, take a nap and eat, and then start looking for her next lead: the very wizardly name Marvolo.

It didn't take her long to find a wizarding family with that name. The Gaunts were an old pure-blood family who were thought to be descendants of Salazar Slytherin. Marvolo had died in the twenties according to _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. His daughter died in the twenties, as well, and his son was in Azkaban for the murder of a family of Muggles by the name of Riddle. Hermione decided to visit the last known address of the family in Little Hangleton to see if there were any clues there. Without anything aside from the barest facts, Hermione could only speculate that if Merope Gaunt had been Tom's mother and one of the Muggles had been his father, her brother could have killed them out of revenge for his sister. Except, the timing felt wrong. Why wait sixteen years to exact revenge on them?

At first glance, Hermione had thought whatever family home the Gaunts had lived in had been torn down in the thirty-plus years it had stood abandoned. Then her gaze caught on the dilapidated cottage that the earth and surrounding forest were trying to reclaim. She approached the ruined building with caution, letting her magic seep out from under her skin to assess the little building for traps and dangers. Her wand rang a long sustained tone as soon as she stepped close enough to feel the wards of the place. They pushed back against her magic, powerful and tingly. Threatening. For being abandoned due to the arrest of Morfin Gaunt, the ramshackle structure was well protected.

She drew her wand and broke through the wards, carefully peeling back the layers surrounding the cottage. After the last one broke, she used the sleeve of her coat to blot at the sweat that had started gathering at her temples. She walked closer and stepped cautiously onto the wooden porch. Most of the wood was rotten and she didn't think it would hold her weight. It creaked but didn't break. She took another step and reached forward, pulling on the door that was stuck ajar. A chuck of wood broke off into her hand. Deciding that physically trying to move the door wouldn't work, she used her wand to try and move the stuck door. It popped and cracked loose, then fell from the rusted iron hinges to collapse between her and the doorway, blocking her path even more. She sighed and vanished it entirely.

The interior of the structure did not look any more appealing than the outside. The floor was covered in dirt and leaves from the trees above and the thatch roof had long since caved in and composted. What might have once been a bed sat in the corner on the floor, the linens balled up and moth-eaten. The kitchen area was the least touched by nature, with heavy branches from a tree having grown in and recreated a roof over the stone fireplace and wobbly cabinets. The kitchen table, rough-hewn dark wood, looked like the only thing that was built to last in the place. It actually looked like it might survive another fifty years even exposed to the elements as it was.

Hermione released her magic again. Another pulse of awareness pinged back at her. Now that the wards were gone, the only magic left in the structure that posed any sort of threat came from under the table. Under the floorboards under the table, to be specific. She carefully removed the boards, one at a time, prying them up with magic and directing them aside with a point of her wand. Despite the heavy magical presence what she found there was a small ring box. She levitated it out and set it on the table. A flick of her wand opened it. Sitting inside as clean and shiny as if it were new was a ring. The stone on top had a symbol carved into it that made the air catch in her lungs.

A line within a circle within a triangle. The symbol of Grindelwald. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

Hermione took a step back and clenched her fist as she calmed her racing heart. Did Voldemort know he had the Resurrection Stone? If he did, would he have intentionally made it a Horcrux?

Stories about the myth of the Resurrection Stone and the other Deathly Hallows rushed through her mind. If she could hold the stone, turn it thrice in her palm, she could see her lost loved ones.

Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest.

Bucky.

But what if it was a trick, like the Veil in the Department of Mysteries? Bucky hadn't been there. What if it only played on the mind, on the _memory_ of a loved one?

It _was_ a trick, she reminded herself, the Hallows were said to have been created by Death and Death had only wanted to trick the three brothers into giving up their souls.

No, she decided, letting her hands relax. She would not be satisfied with a trinket that played on her memories. This may be the Resurrection Stone but it was also Tom Riddle's Horcrux. It would need to be destroyed. She had a plan and she had to stick to it. She used her wand to close the box, shutting the Stone out of sight, and collected the ring box. She would stow this away in her house until she was ready to destroy it. She would not hesitate.


	20. Chapter 20

**August 1977**

The books Hermione had read never said how long a chicken's egg needed to incubate underneath a toad to hatch a Basilisk. She'd learned in Salem that one of the only sure ways to destroy a Horcrux, other than for the wizard who created it to truly feel remorse for his actions and regret his choices, was Basilisk venom. As there hadn't been a documented basilisk in the last four hundred years, she decided she would hatch one, milk its fangs for venom, and then destroy it.

In complete darkness.

Or she would pin the baby snake's head to a table with a y-shaped rod and attempt to milk it that way. She wasn't sure if she would need to milk it before she killed it or not. It was quite possible that she could just kill it as soon as it hatched and then take its fangs from its corpse.

This was, of course, one of the stupidest and most reckless ideas she'd ever had. Even when compared to driving a truck through Nazi-occupied territory and summoning grenade pins because she wanted to sleep in her lover's arms for an hour or so.

While she was diligently keeping a toad on top of a chicken's egg and constructing a soundproof dark room underneath her cottage where she would conduct her risky experiment, she was also contemplating where to look next in her investigation of Tom Riddle. He had said "secrets" and mentioned things he'd "learned in Albania."

The only thing Hermione could think of regarding Albania was that was where the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady, the ghosts of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw Houses, had originally perished. She'd thought the story had been fascinating. Why were these two nobles drawn back to Hogwarts if they'd died so far from it? She'd had a conversation about it with the Fat Friar last year as a teacher and he'd said of the Grey Lady, 'poor Helena.' A little more investigating on her part brought her to the conclusion that 'poor Helena' was actually Helena Ravenclaw, the daughter of the House founder. Why would an English-born noble run away to a far-flung country in Southeastern Europe?

Because she was running away from someone.

For all obvious reasons, the Bloody Baron, who is said to have later killed her.

Hermione wasn't sure if that was the only reason and decided to ask her herself. So, after checking on her toad and the egg, she snuck back into the castle and used the secret passageways to one of the unused towers where the ghosts tended to spend their endless days in repose.

Sir Nicholas greeted her with a smile. "Professor Carter, how are you this fine day?" he asked. He was less visible in the mid-afternoon sun but he still moved close.

"I'm well. I have been researching something of historical importance and have come to the conclusion that I'd like to speak to someone to get a first-hand account," she said, smiling at him. She glanced around to see if the ghost she wanted to speak with was present and bit her lip when she didn't see her.

"I've been around since the thirteenth century. How can I be of service?"

Hermione returned her gaze to him. "Thank you, but I'm afraid I need someone a little bit older."

He floated higher in his shock. "Well, there's only a few ghosts older than me here at Hogwarts. The Fat Friar, the Bloody Baron, and the..." He blinked at her and must have noticed her looking around. "You wish to speak to the Grey Lady, don't you?"

"Yes, I'd like to speak to Helena."

"How do you know my name?" a feminine screech echoed behind her. Most of the other ghosts fled, vanishing through the stonework, the floor, and the ceiling. Even Sir Nicholas looked spooked before he nodded and floated through the floor, leaving Hermione alone with the angry ghost. She turned around and observed the former witch.

"The Fat Friar called you 'poor Helena' once in conversation. Would you please tell me why you fled to Albania? It wasn't just because of the Bloody Baron, was it?"

Helena had been a beautiful woman with soft features and long black hair braided intricately down her back. Her scowl did not detract from the fact. "Who are you to badger me? What is it you want?"

"Solely a conversation," Hermione answered. "A boy, a man now, desecrated a valuable magical artefact. Turned it foul. That man confided in me that he learned things in Albania. You're the only one I can think of with a connection to the country."

"I won't speak of it. He flattered me. He sympathized and now it's ruined." She let out a ghastly wail and started to float away.

Hermione didn't know what Riddle had charmed out of her and she was quickly losing her chance to know more. "I speak of the Resurrection Stone, Helena. What is it that you speak of?"

The Grey Lady stopped floating away and came forward again, eyes wide and fearful. "He ruined the Peverells heirlooms as well?"

"The Stone. He befouled it and stored part of his soul in it. Did he do the same to one of yours?"

"My mother's diadem!" She wailed again, so upset that she flew around Hermione to float high near the ceiling before dropping back down to speak properly with her again. "I was selfish and stole it. Then she got sick and, not knowing John was so violently in love with me, sent him to retrieve me. He didn't tell me that she was sick, rather he used the moment to speak his case again saying mother approved of him. When I refused his suit he went into a rage and stabbed me for rejecting him. I did not learn mother was sick and died until after I made my way back to Hogwarts after I awoke as a ghost. The diadem was left behind." Helena sighed heavily as if the weight of the world were on her proud shoulders. "Tom said he would return it, promised me that he would. And he did but he'd ruined it with his foul soul. It can't ever be used as mother intended."

Hermione almost swallowed her tongue at the new information. So Riddle had created a second Horcrux. "It's here? He brought it back to the castle?"

Helena nodded. "It's where ghosts cannot go, as we have no need of Hidden Things. Please, I need to..." she trailed off and vanished, simply fading from sight.

Hermione felt like she'd interrogated the witch rather than conversed with her. If Riddle's second Horcrux was in the castle, what did Bellatrix have and where did she hide it? How many did Riddle create? She left, taking a circuitous route as she contemplated what Helena had meant by the phrase 'hidden things.' As Hermione passed a silly tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls to dance the ballet she heard stone slide on stone. She looked up and saw a door opposite the tapestry that hadn't been there before. She'd spent enough time in this castle to know that parts of it were more sentient than others and if Hogwarts herself had decided to reveal something to her, she would do well not to hesitate. She opened the heavy wooden door and her jaw dropped. She was in a room, larger than the Great Hall, filled to the brim with junk. She walked further in and saw half a dozen broken chairs, a pile of socks of all colours, and a dented cauldron with something solidified in the bottom.

Hidden things.

Interesting.

Hermione closed her eyes and loosed her magic, spreading her arms wide in an attempt to get a better reading at the room around her. There were several things that pinged as dangerous to her. As she walked down a wide aisle between towers of junk and discarded things she marvelled at the amount and variety of things in the room. Discarded books, empty potions bottles, empty whisky bottles, thousands of broken things from chairs to beds to musical instruments. Her wand gave a low note as she turned down a side path that wound around the backs of three towers created by a wreck of chair legs and tables. She stopped where she was and looked around.

There was a bust of an ancient wizard with a chip gouged along his cheek. She couldn't tell if it was a flaw in the material or if it'd been a frightful mark on his face that the artist had captured with unparalleled detail. There was a cupboard with bubbled and peeling paint with a crooked door. Laying discarded behind the bust was an old, ratty wig in an unflattering yellow. Tangled in the strands of knotted hair was a tarnished metal circlet. She could feel the power of the object from where she stood. She cast several trap-detection spells and didn't find anything compared to what had been on the ring in the Gaunt shack. She picked the diadem up and cradled it in her hands. It might have been beautiful once, with gleaming sapphires and possibly diamonds. There was a thick brown substance caked in the stone settings that Hermione recognised at once as blood. She wondered if it was Helena's or that of the person Riddle murdered to rip his soul for this Horcrux.

She tucked it into her pocket and retreated to the door. She needed to get out of the castle and check on her toad and egg. She had a basilisk to hatch.

* . * . *

**19 September 1977**

On Hermione's fifty-fifth birthday, she awoke and made her way into her basement room to find a dead toad and a broken eggshell. "Well, shit," she mumbled. She closed her eyes and listened. There was a relatively quick beating heart to her left, underneath a small basket of snake milking supplies. She backed up to the stairs with her eyes still closed and left, shutting the door behind her.

"I didn't think this through properly," she muttered to herself. "Fuck."

She blocked the narrow gap under the door with a conjured towel and went upstairs to get dressed. After thinking about her problem she decided to venture down to Aberforth's pub. It was still early, before noon, and Aberforth was sitting in what he called his back garden, surrounded by four goats.

"You're around early," he said in way of greeting without looking up. Hermione just hummed and stepped over the pen and conjured a chair next to his. She sat down and started petting the only goat with horns. He nipped at her sleeve but conceded to the petting.

"I have a problem."

Aberforth grunted.

"I did something stupid and now there's a very dangerous, very deadly creature in my basement."

He laughed. Loudly. For several long minutes. He patted his thigh to try and get his guffaws under control. Finally, he looked up at her, still grinning. "I tell you to come to me if you need help and this is the sort of help you need? All right then, tell me, what sort of deadly creature did you smuggle into your basement. I should send you to Hagrid up at the castle."

"No, with my luck, Hagrid would want to keep it as a pet." He raised his eyebrows at her and she glanced around before answering. "I hatched a baby basilisk."

The amused look on his face slipped away and he might have blanched a little under his suntanned skin. "Why'd you go and do something like that?"

"Basilisk venom is one of the only things that can destroy... that thing we talked about."

He nodded. "What other sorts of ways were there, surely something a little more controllable than a basilisk?"

"Fiendfyre."

He sat back in his chair and scratched at his beard. One of the other goats stepped forward wanting more petting. She started to nibble on his beard when he ignored her. "I'm starting to see the appeal of a basilisk. How big is it?"

"I don't know. I was expecting to be there when it hatched but when I went down this morning I found that it had killed its toad and closed my eyes. I listened and walked out of the room with my eyes closed. I thought I'd be able to, I don't know, hold it down somehow and milk its venom but now that it's alive and out, I realise that getting close will probably result with me being bitten."

"The toad was still there?"

"I figured maybe it tried to eat the toad but couldn't because of its size?"

He batted the goat trying to eat his beard away and sat forward again. "Do you think your magic can immobilize it?" he asked.

She'd never mentioned her magical abilities and she'd hoped that in the time since it had increased she'd learned to control it better. She hoped he would have passed off her cleaning things with just her fingers as a party trick. She should have known better, Aberforth wasn't stupid, he was clever and very observant. "I didn't try," she said, "I'd read that they're resistant to magic like dragons."

"Maybe you should try. How are you going to find it with your eyes closed?"

"Listen for its heartbeat."

His eyebrows came together as he studied her. "You can hear its heartbeat?"

She nodded. She was so tired of hiding who she was that it made her soul feel lighter to share. "I can hear most peoples' and creatures' heartbeats. If I close my eyes now and properly listen I might even be able to hear Rosmerta bustling about in her rooms above the Three Broomsticks."

He looked past her to the pub up the street and then returned his attention to her. "Odd duck, you are. Do you want me to come along in case the thing bites you and you want someone there when you die?"

She did want him there but she worried that his being there could lead to him getting killed so she shook her head. "No. I can die alone just fine, thanks."

He huffed. "Can you conjure a Patronus?"

She blinked at his odd change of subject. "I don't know if I've ever tried. Why?"

"If you can conjure one, I can teach you to send a message with it."

"Oh," she thought for a moment, "The happiest memory and _Expecto Patronum_ right?" He nodded. She took a deep breath and thought of her happiest memories. Reading with her mum, laughing as a child with Peggy and Michael, Christmas morning with Amanda and Harrison, dancing with Bucky. Instead of pulling her wand she called her magic to the surface of her skin and spread out her hand, palm up and fingers spread. " _Expecto Patronum_ ," she said, feeling the hint of hope and wonder bubble to the surface as her magic rushed out of her. At first, there was only a faint blue-silver mist that poured forth from her palm but suddenly something enormous burst out in a blinding light. She blinked the afterimage away to see her giant polar bear Animagus form in a shimmering blue-silver light sitting on the ground looking back at her.

"Merlin's saggy ballsack," Aberforth murmured looking at the brightly illuminated bear with something like astonishment on his face. He shook his head and started in on teaching her the spell to tied a verbal message with her Patronus. After a few moments, the bear faded away. After he was sure she had the words right, he said, "You don't use your wand very often, do you?"

"When it's complicated magic that I need more focus on, I do."

He shook his head, "A Patronus _is_ complicated magic, Millie. I'm starting to believe some of those old rumours about you, you know."

She rolled her eyes at him and patted him on the arm. "I'm not the Ghost of Hogsmeade or the Unaging. Look," she pointed at her eyes, "I've got crow's feet now!" She didn't, not really, if anything the faint lines at her eyes were from squinting for reading in too low light.

He laughed at her joke anyway and swatted at the horned goat that had started nipping at her hair. "Stop it, Bucky," he murmured at it.

She took a sharp, quick breath of surprise and Abe looked at her, confused. "Don't like the name for him?"

She swallowed and tried to find the easy smile she'd had only a few moments ago. "Only if you name his mate Millie."

He watched her and then said, "I'm not naming a goat after you."

She nodded but didn't say anything. Finally, she stood and patted Bucky the goat on the head once more. "I'll send you a Patronus if I die, okay?"

He grunted and she stepped out of the pen and headed back to her cottage. She brainstormed on the walk home and when she entered her house she went directly to the basement. She listened. The basilisk's heartbeat was coming from the other side of the room. She opened the door and aimed her wand at the floor, a quick spell illuminated it like a muggle's electric torch. She looked at the ceiling. It took her a moment to discern what she was seeing. The large square in the middle was the table with the milking supplies basket and the nest she'd made for the egg and toad. The smaller square was the short wooden chair. She checked the corners of the ceiling for snake-like silhouettes but didn't find anything there. She cast the spell again on the table and chair, making their top's light up too. The basket on the table and the nest with the dead toad in it were the remaining dark spots.

Hermione's heart started to beat faster when she didn't immediately see the snake-like silhouette of the basilisk. She finally spotted the shadow of its tail dangling over the side of the nest. Was it trying to eat the toad again? It was probably hungry. She swallowed and returned the room to darkness. With her wand, she pointed toward the table and the nest and cast a Stunning Spell with all of her strength. The wood of the table cracked but it didn't collapse. She didn't think the spell would work and she knew it wouldn't help to not look the creature in the eye. While she had waited for it to hatch she'd researched serpents. They didn't close their eyes to sleep. She waited, wondering what else she could cast at the basilisk to blind it when she frowned.

Where had the heartbeat gone?

She closed her eyes and listened, counting her own quick beats as she did. Nothing. She took a deep, nervous breath and brought up the lights. The table was indeed cracked but the nest was still there. In the nest, with the toad bulging its neck revoltingly, was the tiny baby basilisk. It didn't appear to be moving. It wasn't breathing but she knew they could hold their breath. Had she killed it with a single spell? She moved closer and conjured a cloth to lay over its face. It didn't flinch. She poked it with her wand.

Nothing.

She turned around, leaving the scene, and went upstairs. She opened her drinks cupboard and pulled out the almost full bottle of firewhisky. It wasn't even noon but she poured herself three fingers and sat down to sip at it. She laughed at herself.

Maybe the resistance to magic was related to the age of the creature and toughness of the hide? She didn't think her magic was so strong as to kill a fully magic-resistant creature. She relaxed in her living room for most of the day before she went down to the basement.

The cloth hadn't been disturbed. The baby basilisk was dead. Before she removed the cloth she vanished the creature's eyeballs, still wary about being turned to stone. In case the venom could be deadly from touch alone, Hermione used her wand to remove the fangs from the corpse's head. She enlarged them to have something to work with and then tucked them away into a mokeskin pouch she'd purchased. She had a second that held both of the Horcruxes she'd retrieved thus far. After collecting several fangs, she Vanished the body, the nest and the snake milking supplies that she hadn't needed.

She nodded to herself and returned upstairs for another drink and some dinner. "Job well done," she told herself.


	21. Chapter 21

**28 October 1978**

The next phase of Hermione's plans meant she had to observe Bellatrix Lestrange. She wanted to know what it was Voldemort had entrusted to her. For the longest while, she didn't get the chance to observe but over the course of the next year, she simpered and wheedled closer to the core group of his followers until she was a usual presence among them.

It was at an initiation of new recruits in October that she could finally gather the last item she needed to successfully impersonate Bellatrix. These types of gatherings were masquerades out of necessity. Hermione was wearing a full-face mask shaped into the face of a hyena, all big ears, short snout, and faux bloody fur. Her dress robes were also trimmed in faux spotted fur. Her hair was pulled back and braided, doubled up underneath to appear shorter than it was. She'd picked a hyena because of the symbolism of the animal—cunning and resistant against enemies—and it was something different.

Narcissa Malfoy wore albino peacock feathers over a half-mask and Bellatrix wore raven feathers on a half-mask but her hair was pulled up in beautiful dangling curls. In fact, all of the Black family had taken on birds as their animals. Walburga's pick was a vulture. Hermione thought that was apt.

She mingled, carefully looking out for August, even as she congratulated some of the new recruits. Regulus Black, dressed as a peregrine falcon, Severus Snape, behind a detailed mask of a bat, and Rabastan Lestrange, wearing a too-realistic looking wolf's head as a mask that matched his brother's, all made her disappointed list. The others, Avery, Mulciber, and Rosier, received her congratulations as well but she'd had no hope for those three.

She spotted August by the narrowness of his shoulders and his height. His choice of a lion mask and mane seemed ironic to her. She turned and hoped her disguised hair and tall shoes would be enough to hide from him. She had no desire to tangle with him tonight. She wandered close to the flock of women on the other side of the room and listened as Narcissa, Bellatrix, and Walburga tried to one-up one another.

"He trusts me most of all," Bellatrix whispered with viciousness in her tone.

Narcissa's lips pursed and she might have rolled her eyes if it wasn't unladylike. Instead, she just looked at Walburga out of the corner of her eyes with a glance that said she knew her sister was insecure and to not take it personally. "I'm sure he does trust you, Bella, but he also trusts Lucius. I saw him lock away an item of great importance to the Dark Lord in his study."

Hermione felt her stomach flip over. How many Horcruxes could one man have? Were both sisters bragging about holding onto similar items? She hoped not but she couldn't rule it out. She added infiltrating the Malfoy manse and searching their study to her mental list.

"Regulus has been asked to stay after his initiation. I'm sure the contributions from the Black family vaults have elevated his status among the newest of the brethren. I'm still wondering why that Snape boy was allowed to join. He's not from a great house," Walburga vaunted.

"Well, the Dark Lord had decided that Rodolphus and I are to be sent to the continent next month to complete a mission for him there," Bellatrix said, tipping her chin up like she'd won the one-upmanship that they'd been competing in.

Three other women joined them, and the topic of the Dark Lord was dropped in favour of fashion and nitpicking other women's outfits for the evening. Hermione turned and glided through the room to another spot not interested in hearing how her robes and mask were not up to par to their standards. She was still debating on 'accidentally' bumping into Bellatrix in order to gain a hair from her head when she almost crashed into August with his lion's mask. He wasn't looking at her, just standing nearby chatting with Orion, a cardinal with shocking red plumage woven into his dark hair. She skirted around the pair of them to stand near the wall of windows. Full-face masks made having a drink or nibbling on any of the hors d'oeuvres being carried about by house-elves difficult and she was starting to get hungry. Better to depart now rather than risk unmasking herself.

She was watching the birds spread out among the other animals and deciding the best way to run into Bellatrix when a man stepped beside her. "You look cunning, my dear."

She glanced at the tall, broad-chested man wearing the likeness of a bear's head as a mask. Its fur was dyed white but it wasn't a polar bear. "Sorry?" she asked.

"Well," he said in a cultured tone, "I couldn't rightly say a hyena was fetching, now could I? I'm particularly pleased with the spots on your coat."

She couldn't help herself and laughed at his teasing. She had been able to identify most of the partygoers. This one she could not. It discomforted her. "I didn't catch your name, sir."

"Ah, but it's a masquerade. You won't know who I am until the unveiling at midnight in half an hour."

"Do you know to whom you speak? Or am I alone in that?"

"I do not believe I've made your acquaintance, actually, but I am intrigued enough to ask for a dance and hope to hold your attention until it's time to remove our masks. What do you say, will you dance with me?"

She was thankful for her mask because that meant she didn't have to smile at him. She did not want to be at the party come midnight but a single dance should be safe. She acquiesced and held out her hand. He took it and guided her to an open spot of the dance floor and pulled her into position. It was a slower dance, nothing like the Lindy or Jitterbug, but it reminded her of Bucky just the same. She'd rarely allowed herself to be in anyone's personal space in decades so she made sure to keep her arms locked so her partner didn't attempt to pull her close.

"I'd said I haven't seen you around but without knowing your identity that's a ridiculous claim," he said as he led her around the floor in wide sweeping circles. "So I'll ask instead, how long have you supported the Dark Lord?"

"Long enough to be invited to the soirees," she said.

"Do you have brothers who have joined the cause?" He spun her around confidently and she caught a flash of raven feathers nearby.

"I do not. Do you?"

"My son and I contribute greatly to his campaign and my son is a close... advisor."

He spun her again and she noted that if he spun her at the end of the next circle she would be close to Bellatrix where the woman was still standing near the dance floor with her sister. "How very fortunate that the Dark Lord has such generous... benefactors between you and the Blacks."

He seemed like he was going to say something else but paused to spin her again. She intentionally missed the step and overcorrected which caused her to lose her balance just enough to crash into Bellatrix. She grabbed at the woman's shoulders to try and stop her fall and just happened to trap a curling tress under her hand. Both women fell to the floor and Hermione tugged at the hair, feeling a few loose strands tangle in her fingers. As she stood up, profusely apologising to all involved parties she patted her skirts down, tucking the strands into one of the pockets hidden in her dress.

"What are you doing?" Bellatrix asked, her voice sharp.

"Again, I'm sorry. I tripped on my skirt, I think. I do apologise."

Bellatrix turned on Hermione's dance partner and opened her mouth like she was going to screech at him too when she noticed—and recognised—who he was. "Abraxas," she said stiffly.

"Bella," he replied. He turned back to Hermione, "I'm sorry, my dear, are you too bruised up? Why don't we go over there, there are some benches where you can rest." She let him guide her towards the benches because they were also near the door but she did not sit when he gestured for her to do so.

"I'm sorry but I think I'm going to go home now."

"Ah, but the unveiling ceremony!" He laid a dramatic hand on his chest. "How am I to know the beauty behind the mask if you leave before midnight?"

"Perhaps it's best if you don't learn my identity. I've embarrassed myself enough for the evening. Best to disappear before the Raven comes calling."

His voice took on a more serious tone, "Bellatrix will do no such thing. It was an accident, a slip of the foot. If she hadn't been standing so close to the dance floor it wouldn't have happened."

"Still," she said again, glancing around to make sure that the Lion was still on the other side of the room, "I'm tired and a little bruised, my ego most of all. I'm normally a much better dancer. Thank you for the dance, by the way."

"It was my pleasure," he answered, sounding disappointed.

She nodded once and turned, making sure not to wobble in her tall shoes. A sprained ankle was nothing in the grand scheme of things. She made it to the cloakroom as the announcement that midnight would strike in five minutes was made. The house-elf there handed her the cloak and she pulled it around her shoulders before stepping out into the cold grounds and Apparated home.

* . * . *

**11 November 1978**

After the masquerade-initiation, Hermione only had to wait two more weeks before she knew that Rodolphus and Bellatrix were going to be out of the country for a few days on a trip for Voldemort. When they left, Hermione dropped a strand of Bellatrix's hair into her flask of Polyjuice Potion and took a sip. It tasted vile, like blood and black liquorice. The process was just as uncomfortable as she remembered. When she opened her eyes and looked in the mirror she found Bellatrix Lestrange looking back at her. She dressed in the Transfigured robes that she'd made to replicate Bellatrix's style and tucked an empty mokeskin bag into her pocket. She didn't want to leave her home with the other Horcruxes or her small supply of Basilisk fangs so she'd invested in a third bag. They were useful for other tasks but horribly expensive. She smirked at herself in the mirror; Bellatrix's smirk shone back at her. Good thing she was paid so well.

Hermione tucked the flask of Polyjuice into the mokeskin bag and Disapparated to Diagon Alley. She sauntered into Gringotts and directly to the head goblin. He raised his head after a moment and she tipped her chin and raised her eyebrows in an impatient gesture. He nodded and called for one of the cart operators to take her down to her vault.

She held on tightly as the cart vibrated and clattered around corners and down sharp inclines. There was something she'd researched about the bank called the Thief's Downfall, a charmed waterfall that would wash away all enchantments and if it found you dishonest would dump you out of the cart and sound an alarm. Over the loud clanking of the rickety cart, Hermione could hear the water. She had planned for two options—to try to use Archie Sprout's Umbrella-Impervius Charm to not let the water touch her. Or the more difficult way: stop her fall with a spell, Obliviate the goblin with her, take another swig of Polyjuice, and then have a tantrum the way she imagined Bellatrix would. The second option would involve a lot of torture and death for the goblins for presuming she was a thief.

Hermione hadn't killed anyone since 1944 but for the sake of this mission, she would.

Thankfully, she didn't have to. The goblins must have not suspected her deception because the cart operator routed them down a side track that didn't go under the waterfall. There were two more stomach-swooping vertical drops before the cart came to a stop on the bottom of the cavern so quickly it might have given her whiplash. She rocked her head back on her neck but didn't give it further thought. Just like the sprained ankle she'd got at the party, this injury would heal in less than a day.

The goblin toddled past her. He picked up an odd contraption that, when twisted, made a loud, clacking noise. He got a good rhythm going, clack-clack-clack until that was all Hermione could hear. Until it wasn't. Just beyond the columns came an animal scream so loud it rattled her chest. She stepped behind the goblin with the noise-maker to see just the barest hint of something large cowering in the darkness beyond. It shifted and a great gust of wind rushed over her carrying with it the smell of ash and animal dung. Dragon. It shrieked again, obviously having been trained to associate the noise with pain, and Hermione had to bite her tongue to stay in character. Bellatrix Lestrange wouldn't care about the poor creature. In fact, she would probably be delighted at the sounds of pain and suffering it made.

Hermione moved quickly behind the goblin and was thankful when they were past the dragon's domain and he set the noise-maker down behind another column. Hermione stood off to the side and gave a show of impatience as she waited for the goblin to slowly walk towards the wall of vault doors, illuminated by widely-spaced hanging braziers. The goblin didn't seem to realise she was actually waiting for him to lead the way to the vault. It was only a little further along until he stopped and laid his gnarled hands on a vault door. She could hear the multitude of locks in the door disengage, grating like there was dirt and dust in the tumblers.

The door swung open and the chaos within startled her. There were piles of gold galleons strewn everywhere. Half dismantled suits of armour were scattered about and there were at least two credenzas with silver platters and jewels tossed haphazardly aside. Hermione pulled her magic close and let it ping, feeling the Anti-theft Curses ring back at her. She walked through the narrow aisle created by the piles of coins, studiously avoiding them. She cast her magic about her once more with a subtle flick of her finger and she finally got an echo of Dark Magic from across the room. Tucked onto a high shelf was a small, golden cup. In the low light, it was difficult to make out the details but it looked as if it had an animal sculpted in relief on one side.

She turned around slowly like she was still looking for what she'd come down for, to spy on the goblin. He was watching her with a scrutinizing gaze. She couldn't pull her wand to deactivate the Anti-Theft Curses and she couldn't get to the cup without touching the coins with the curses laid over them. She took a deep breath in and focused her magic with as much intent as she could, pinging the magic and then peeling back the curses one at a time. It took time and the goblin behind her cleared his throat in an effort to get her to move. She wondered if he was getting suspicious. She glanced once more at the cup and then grunted like she just spotted the thing she wanted. She walked over some of the knocked over piles of coins and picked up the cup. She half expected there to be a curse directly on the object, but didn't feel anything aside from the oily slickness of Dark Magic coating it. She tucked it into her mokeskin pouch where it was hidden in the pockets of her robes.

She turned and as she was leaving she re-applied the same Anti-Theft Curses to the treasures within. When Bellatrix returned to her vault, the curses would activate on her. Hermione hoped they would hurt. It was too passively aggressive to count as revenge. It didn't alleviate any of the guilt she felt over pointing out that Unspeakable to Bellatrix but it was all she could do at the moment.

The return to the surface past the cowering dragon was uneventful and if the goblin suspected anything and told his superiors, they didn't retaliate. She returned to her cottage just as the Polyjuice was wearing off and vanished the remaining potion and hairs. Hopefully, the last part of her investigation wouldn't need as much preparation as this one had.

* . * . *

**24 December 1978**

Another Christmas, another party. This particular Death Eater gathering was being held at Malfoy Manor with Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy as the hosts. Hermione felt fortunate for that. It gave her an excuse to be at their manor without having to participate in even more disingenuous social manoeuvring and politeness. Now all she had to do was locate Lucius's study, find whatever important item he'd stashed there and get out without arousing suspicion. She hoped that whatever it was she found would be the last Horcrux but she wasn't sure if she would ever know for sure and that worried her.

Hermione mingled, making generic small talk with this Parkinson or that Rosier as she observed the ballroom. She watched the door the house-elves were using. The rooms set aside for women to powder their noses or fix their dresses were near the kitchens while the rooms for men were opposite that, towards the centre of the house. She would probably be able to access the private rooms of the manor through either. There would be less chance of getting caught by a house-elf if she went into the men's rooms.

She wandered by the younger men and was greeted by Rabastan Lestrange. "Professor Carter, it's nice to see you here," he said as he welcomed her into the small circle of other young men he was chatting with. Evan Rosier was in the middle of a rousing tale about how he had been caught in a spell fight with members of the Order of the Phoenix. The story probably included a bit less blood and bravery than he'd been describing. He caught sight of her, realized his story might not be appropriate for a woman's ears—despite the fact that she'd been his Defense teacher—and immediately shut his mouth.

"Oh, do continue," she told him and then leaned forward, bringing her hand up to stage whisper at him, "but the human body only has about eight pints of blood in it. If you'd lost as much as you claim you wouldn't be standing here." She leaned back and sipped at the glass of wine in her hands, "Otherwise I agree, eviscerating someone can be extremely satisfying. Though I prefer spells that keep all the messy bits inside where they belong."

Rosier's eyes bulged as the small group all started fidgeting and blinking at her. "Umm, Professor?"

"Hmm? Did I overshare?"

Lestrange cleared his throat and tried to answer for Rosier, who was still staring at her like he'd swallowed his tongue, "We just... didn't think you... umm..."

She rolled her eyes and sighed a little theatrically. "We're all here because we have similar ideologies, are we not?" She tipped her head and let her gaze focus on Voldemort who was mingling among the guests. Bellatrix walked beside him.

"Of course," Lestrange said, "I just suppose we never expected you to..." he swallowed and glanced at Regulus Black to help him out.

"...have participated in the raids our Dark Lord sends us on," Black said, plainly acknowledging that he was a Death Eater.

"He doesn't," she told him, smiling. "That doesn't mean I don't know what it's like to eviscerate a man. I have a past, you know, I didn't just spring into existence to teach you Defence for a year."

Lestrange chuckled at the comment and broke the odd tension among his fellows by joking, "I don't know, imagining you being born an adult and in full battle, regalia is an interesting idea. Much better than the rumours that circulated around school at the beginning." The others laughed a little and he laid his hand on his chest and said, "My Goddess!"

"If that's what you're imagining in your alone time, I don't need to know about it," she joked back. He ducked his head and might have blushed. Rosier covered for him and started talking about his plans for his upcoming birthday.

She excused herself and as she walked away she listened to their conversation.

"Regulus, what about you?" Rosier asked, "Any plans for your birthday?"

"I've got something planned but it's nothing grand. Just exposing a fascinating secret I learned about someone that I think everyone should know. You know, Slytherin stuff." They all laughed and anything else that might have been said was swallowed up by August making his presence known.

He stepped close and grabbed her arm, smoothly sliding it along his and turning so as to look like he was just accompanying her. His grip on her wrist was tight and painful; she didn't let on that it bothered her. "Hello again, my darling, Hermine. It's been some time since I've seen you. I thought for sure I would see you at the masquerade at Halloween. Imagine my surprise when it was time for the unmasking and you weren't there? I even wore a lion's head to appeal to your Gryffindor roots." He played with the lion charm on her bracelet with his free hand.

"I have nothing to say to you, August."

"I disagree," he said, tightening his grip further. "I will get what I want from you, one way or another."

"We'll have to agree to disagree." She twisted in his grasp and retaliated by pinching with her fingernails at the thin skin of his wrist. He grimaced and moved his hand away. She pulled away from him completely. "If you'll excuse me," she said and then walked with a purpose towards the ladies' rooms.

She walked down the hall and saw the door she was obviously supposed to use leading to a sitting room and bathroom. There were two women chatting to one another as they walked past her back to the ballroom. Instead of turning left into the room, she went past it. The hall opened into an undecorated stairwell heading up. There were also three other closed doors at the junction.

She had no idea where Lucius's study might be. She heard the clatter of dishes through the door beside the staircase and deduced that it must lead to the kitchens. Another woman had turned down the hall headed for the ladies' rooms and Hermione decided to head up the stairs instead of standing there and potentially being caught by a guest.

The first floor of the manor was just as elaborately decorated as the main floor but there were fewer portraits. Many of them were empty of subjects as most had congregated downstairs to watch the party. Hermione opened each door she came to and peeked in. Most of these were sitting rooms leading to guest bedrooms. After she traversed the length of the house she was beginning to suspect that Lucius's study was not on this floor.

She came to the main staircase of the house. It was wide and open and without even getting close to the railing, she could see people still arriving and the cloak closet with its house-elf attendant. Hermione backed up slowly and retraced her steps. She went back down the first staircase and after a moment's pause to listen for movement checked the two doors she hadn't before. The first was another bathroom, less opulent and more utilitarian than the previous ones she'd seen. The second led to a narrow hallway that followed the same path as the upstairs hall, it would probably come to a hidden side door at the main staircase.

She didn't think the man of the house's study would be down a service hallway and she almost retreated again before she realised that this narrow hall might lead to the men's rooms. She closed the door behind her and walked with quiet, quick steps. Just to be thorough, she did check the doors she came across, finding that she was indeed using the servant's spaces when she opened one narrow door and found that she was looking into the dining room with its long table all set up for the guests. When the hall split, she turned with it instead of going straight.

She could hear a man laughing and more conversation through the farthest door and she realised she had indeed found her way through the labyrinth of this house to the men's side. Now if she could just find the damn study. There was another staircase, narrow but not dusty and she followed that one up. Here she found a door that looked like it led into the family rooms of the manor. The second door she tried smelled of books and leather.

"Yes," she whispered to herself as she entered. She pinged her magic and felt several things ring back at her. She investigated each one. Along the sides of the walls were display cabinets with portraits and family wands resting on pillows underneath them. There were little plaques that detailed the accomplishments of each. They were all blond or white-haired men, quite a few old and paunchy. Most of them were sleeping, uninterested in the goings-on of the party downstairs. It was their wands that rang back at Hermione through the Dark Arts Detection Spell. The one area of the room that didn't have a wand on display that rang at her was the large, glossy desk. She checked the drawers, unsure of what sort of artefact she was looking for. She came across a locked and booby-trapped drawer. She deactivated the trap and unlocked it. She opened it expecting another delicate trinket but found a small journal instead. It was a little tattered on the bottom corner and looked old. She checked the book itself but didn't find anything that would suggest harm if she touched it. She picked it up and opened it, flipping through the old paper inside.

Blank.

There was no writing at all inside. No torn out pages to suggest it had been written in either. What made this an item of value that Voldemort would have wanted to make a Horcrux out of it? She flipped it over in her hands and caught a year marked on the spine. 1943. Just reading the year made memories pop up in her mind but she pushed them away. Thinking about Peggy or Bucky wasn't going to help her right now.

On the back was an address on Vauxhall Road, a Muggle address in London. She opened it again, to the first page this time, and there, in faded, smudged ink was written _T. M. Riddle_.

"Well, he was sixteen at the time," she muttered to herself. She tucked the diary into her pocket, glad to have the forethought of an Undetectable Extension Charm, and went about relocking and re-trapping the drawer. She stood and headed for the door, listened only for a moment, and then exited it and entered the hall. She went back down the narrow staircase and was about to retrace her steps when the door to the men's rooms opened and someone walked through still talking, "I'll go look for him." He turned and caught sight of her as he pulled the door shut behind him.

He smiled and looked her up and down. "Are you lost, my little hyena?"

She tried to suppress her surprise. She recognised his voice but hadn't recognised his face. He was blond and balding but wore it well. His nose was long and straight and when he tipped his chin down to peer at her with scrutinizing blue eyes he reminded her of a bird of prey. "The white bear. Abraxas Malfoy, I take it?" she asked.

"Indeed," he said, walking closer to her and reaching for her hand; she let him take it. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist and pulled her close. "I don't believe we've been properly acquainted, madam. I'm Abraxas, Lucius Malfoy's father and one of the main contributors to the Dark Lord's campaign. Who are you, my dear?"

"Mildred Carter."

"Well, Miss Carter, I'm interested in learning what has you wandering the bowels of my home. My house-elves and portraits have noticed your presence."

She doubted she had the ability to lie here with any sort of finesse but she was going to try. "I was admiring the architecture." She gave a little shrug, "and then I got lost."

"Lost indeed," he said. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "I don't believe you. I think you were looking for something." He leaned back and studied her again.

"A way out."

He tipped his head back and laughed. "I like you, Miss Carter. Are you interested in continuing our conversation in private?"

She glanced around at the empty staircase. "More private than this?"

"Don't play coy. Lucius isn't at the party and you're coming from his rooms down the servants' staircase. You know what I'm suggesting."

Hermione was stunned for half a moment while she decided which way to play this unexpected scenario. "I'm coming from your son's rooms and you're still interested in continuing our conversation privately?"

He gave her an aristocratic shrug. "My son has good taste. I'm also sure you'd be more interested in experience rather than haste."

She raised her eyebrows, not particularly impressed. "And if I'm not interested?"

"Don't you have a fiancé waiting for you at the party? One August Pohl, I believe." For a threat, it was a bit pathetic, Hermione thought.

"He's been waiting thirty years. He can keep waiting."

He kissed her.

It had also been thirty years since Hermione had been this close to anyone. She'd had a spike of adrenaline when she'd been caught and it hadn't faded completely; that would be her excuse when she thought about this moment later.

She kissed him back.

He crowded her against a wall, put his hands around her waist and lifted her up. To help him out she tried to put her legs around his hips but her skirt was in the way. There was a rip and the fabric tore up to her thigh. She honestly didn't know if it was him or her magic that did it. Either way, she crossed her ankles behind him to help hold herself up as he kissed her with his very talented mouth.

His hands travelled. One down to her hip to continue to hold her and the other came up to palm at her breast. Hermione's heart was beating quickly in her chest. Her thoughts were scattered and she might have moaned when he ground his hips into hers.

A woman cleared her throat.

Abraxas pulled back from Hermione and looked over his shoulder to see who was interrupting them. Hermione could see Narcissa Malfoy looking decidedly uncomfortable at finding her father-in-law petting one of their dinner guests.

"Dinner is about to be served, Abraxas," she said. She leaned to the side to get a better look at Hermione. "Miss Carter." She nodded and walked back down the hallway.

Abraxas backed up and Hermione dropped her legs from him. She cleared her throat, completely flustered and shocked at herself for the way she had acted. He grinned and the look turned his predatory features into something almost boyish. "Forget about dinner; I can have a house-elf bring us something up to my room."

"Are you not worried about my fiancé?" She said. Her irrational passion had cooled from being caught and now she was ready to escape the intense situation for the diffused cool politeness of the party.

He dismissed her retort with a shrug of one shoulder. "Pohl's been rumoured to be Albus Dumbledore's lover since they were just out of school. How did you ever meet the bastard?"

Hermione was so stunned she laughed and shook her head. "It's a long story." She took a deep breath and stepped out from between him and the wall. "Should I go the long way 'round or can I cut through the men's rooms?"

He pouted for a brief moment but straightened his shoulders and neatened his robes. "I'll escort you 'round, no need to get lost again, hmm?" He offered his arm like a gentleman and led the way to the dining room. They were the last to enter. He brought her to stand next to August, her standard dinner partner at these events and went on to find his own chair.

When they all sat Hermione felt a draft. She glanced down to see the rip in her dress had gone from the floor all the way up to the top of her thigh. Beside her, August cleared his throat. She looked up at him and the disapproval in his eyes had her smirking. She pulled her wand from her pocket and repaired the split before the food started appearing on the plates.

As usual, she didn't talk to him at all throughout the meal. She left soon after dinner was wrapped up, successful in avoiding both August and Abraxas, albeit for different reasons. If she felt guilty and cried herself to sleep that night, no one had to know.


	22. Chapter 22

**18 March 1979**

Hermione paced the length of her living room, irritated because there was some pestering thought that kept her from sleeping that she couldn't identify. Just an overall feeling of missing something important. She hadn't destroyed the Horcruxes she'd collected yet because she wasn't sure if Riddle would know if she did. She had planned to tell Dumbledore that he should call Riddle out then destroy the Horcruxes or at least share her knowledge of them first. Was her unease caused by having those Horcruxes in her house? She hadn't been feeling this way in the two years since she'd collected the first one so she dismissed that as the problem.

The grandfather clock in her parlour chimed again. She sighed and decided that going over all of her research regarding Riddle might help her identify the irritation at the back of her mind. She went to her study and deactivated the protective enchantments she'd constructed to hide her research. Setting it on the top of her desk, she shuffled through it before starting with the copies of things she'd taken from the orphanage.

There were three sentences regarding an incident in 1937 when Riddle was ten. On a trip to the sea, Riddle had taken two younger children into a cave nearby. When they returned the two children acted differently and had stopped speaking. For some reason, of all the infractions listed including stealing other children's toys, killing small animals, and bullying other children, this deed stood out to her.

It was one of the only places she hadn't investigated. She didn't know if that was the thing that was bothering her or if it the irritating feeling had to do with tomorrow's date—she glanced at the carriage clock on the corner of her desk, today's date. Hermione sighed and decided that she might as well go to this cave as her gut instinct kept telling her to. She redressed and pocketed a pair of dragonhide gloves, her wand, and the two mokeskin pouches. The one with the enlarged basilisk fangs and the one with the Horcruxes.

She flipped through her collection of topographical maps. She unfurled the one of England and checked the information in the file from the orphanage. She found the village they visited on the map and studied the best place to Apparate. She decided to aim for just inland of the sea cliff nearby. She might be able to find the cave from there. She should be doing this during the day but her gut just wouldn't let her rest.

She rolled the map back up and tucked it away before Apparating to her destination. The cold, wet wind went straight through her clothes when she arrived and she cast a Warming Charm to take the edge off. The cliffs were only lit by a sliver of waning moon half-blocked by clouds. There were no houses or buildings in sight. She was starting to get the feeling that this might be a hopeless endeavour.

She walked closer to the edge of the cliff and looked out at the water. The sea looked black in the moonlight and seemed angry as it crashed against the rocks. She stared out at the churning tide, listening to the roar of the waves when her eyes caught on something. She squinted, was that the figure of a man, standing down there?

The figure knelt and after a moment removed his cloak. Then he jumped into the water and started swimming. Who the hell would go for a swim now? There was something else on the rock from where he jumped; it was small and seemed to hop around. It wasn't until a cloud moved past the moon and illuminated the rock that she saw what looked to be a house-elf nervously prancing there.

Hermione rubbed at her eyes and looked again, still in disbelief about what she was seeing. Who was down there and why this date? Why now? It still nagged at her, irritating and just out of reach. The elf disappeared but mustn't have gone far as Hermione heard both its Disapparition and Apparition cracks from the top of the cliff. The urge to go down and investigate was going to drive her mad. She muttered, "fine," and Disapparated. The rock upon which she landed was slippery and she fell onto her bum. "That's going to bruise," she said; the sound of it was lost to the churning ocean and wind. She started to push herself up but realised she was on the man's cloak. She picked it up, noticing the softness of it under her fingertips; it was of high quality. She checked the collar for a name like she'd done as a professor when she'd found a stray cloak in her classroom. Embroidered in the collar with green thread was the name _R. Black._

Suddenly the date made sense. Today was Regulus Black's birthday. She remembered his small circle of friends celebrating it when she taught them. She'd even wished him a happy birthday. What was it she'd heard him say regarding his birthday when the boys had brought it up at the Christmas party? Revealing a secret, wasn't it? She looked up in the direction she'd seen him swim. What sort of secret would bring Regulus to this particular cave?

Dread overwhelmed her for a moment so strongly she might be sick. She knew, of course, what sorts of secrets Riddle kept. She didn't know how Regulus had learned of this one but she knew without a doubt that a seventh-year boy and his elf wouldn't have what it took to counter Riddle's typical traps.

She couldn't make out the mouth of the cave or where to Apparate. That's probably why he had swum. She felt something like fear bubble up in her gut. She hadn't gone swimming since she'd been a child and even then she wasn't well accomplished at it. The water was turbulent; would she even be able to get across?

She had to, though, because who knew what Regulus was up to. What sort of mess was this child in? Young man, her mind corrected, today's his eighteenth birthday. She made sure her mokeskin pouches were well attached to her clothes, took a deep breath, and dove into the water.

It was freezing and for an instant, her brain stopped working. Water rushed over her face which seemed to kickstart her body into remembering what to do. Stroke over stroke, she propelled herself through the water. She gasped when a wave moved her sideways and water went up her nose but she kept swimming. It wasn't until she reached the mouth of the cave, clawing at the rocks in the shallow pool of water and heaving for breath that she thought about using a Bubble-head Charm. By the time her breathing had evened out she was shivering. She used a spell to dry her clothes and warm her. She stood and looked around the cave. The space was empty and not very deep. Was she in the wrong place? Where was Regulus?

Instead of doubting herself she focused on listening to her senses. Her hearing didn't give her anything aside from the roar of the waves crashing against the rocks and her eyesight wasn't much help, even with the light of her wand. Her sense of smell, however, picked up copper mingled with the salt of the sea. Copper usually meant blood. She walked closer to the walls and pinged them with her magic. She spotted the blood on the bare wall at the same time the magic rang back at her. Really? Riddle's wards wanted a blood sacrifice?

She probably could have attempted to take down the enchantments completely but if Regulus and his house-elf were in the cave alone she needed to hurry. She didn't know what other sorts of traps could be down there. She cut the back of her hand with a spell and let the blood well up to the surface. After a moment she spread it on the wall on top of the previous blood smear. An archway of silver appeared and the rock within vanished. She passed through the space and squinted into the darkness. The cavern held a giant black lake. Something at the centre glowed with an unnatural green light. It didn't do anything to cut through the darkness. She could barely see a small shape moving slowly and smoothly over the surface of the water. A boat.

She walked along the cavern wall following a narrow path beside the water. If she lit her wand he would see her. Would he panic? She wasn't sure. Everything about this place—the treacherous entrance, the blood sacrifice, the enormous black lake, and the greenish light—all had her senses on high alert. There was something horrible here.

Hermione didn't know what to do. Some instinct of hers told her not to go near the water. She could feel the Anti-Apparition Charm and the Anti-Disapparition Jinx overlapping the other magic in the place. There wasn't much she could do from where she stood. She slipped her wand into her hand and tried to conjure a boat but as soon as it touched the water it sprang a leak. She vanished it before it could sink and disturb the water or alert Regulus and his house-elf to her presence.

She watched as the little boat they were in finally made it to the centre of the lake. She couldn't see what they were doing with the green glow and velvety blackness of the cavern blinding her but she heard loud and clear when he screamed.

She jerked in place, his scream ringing an echo in her head. She called out to him. "Regulus! It's Professor Carter! Stop! Come back, we'll figure something out."

He screamed again and she could hear him murmuring to his house-elf to stop. "Don't hurt him!" she shouted. She bent and put her hand in the water, testing how cold it was, debating whether she could swim in it. Something cold, spindly, and white reached out and grabbed her. She flung herself back, staring with wide eyes as the dead hand retreated back under the water.

Her mind raced in circles as Regulus screamed again. Inferius. She lit her wand and held it as close to the surface of the water as she dared. She could see them now. Bodies suspended in the water, eyes open and milky, their clothes disintegrating into rags. She looked back up at the little island with its eerie green glow, more fearful for his life than she had been.

"Elf, please, bring him back. Let me help him! I can't get across the water!" She shouted, desperate to stop whatever was happening before the Inferi ascended. If she could just be sure of Regulus's safety then she could attempt to release her control on her magic, could try to destroy the Inferi somehow.

But as she called out for the elf to stop hurting his master, she saw she was too late. The Inferi were starting to climb out of the water. "Elf, bring him to me! Elf, please!" She yelled. They were too far away to see clearly but she sent a ball of fire near the island to try to stop the dead from dragging the boy under. "Please, please," she muttered, knocking off a few more with another shot of fire. She dared not aim directly at the island—she couldn't see Regulus or his elf clearly; they were surrounded.

He screamed again and this time it was half garbled as he started to go under the water. "NO!" She shouted again, sending as much fire as she dared, spreading her fingers and arms out and releasing her magic as powerfully as she could.

Some of the Inferi let out inhuman shrieks as the fire burned them but she couldn't hear or see Regulus. "Elf! Help me!" She demanded even as she tried to think of some way to save him. She attempted to vanish the water but nothing happened. The water below her fire was starting to calm, the ripples and churning the Inferi had made when they ascended disappearing quicker than they should. In the brilliance of her fire, she could see the boat sinking back into the water. "No," she whispered as she stared out into the dark lake.

CRACK! Hermione jerked back and her concentration broke. The fire she'd held across the water disappeared in an instant. She looked to her left and could barely make out a house-elf in the oppressive darkness. He was sobbing and clutching something to his chest. Tears welled in her eyes. She'd failed.

She sank to her knees, feeling her robes grow wet from the incoming tide. "I'm so sorry, little elf."

He wailed and with a free hand reached up to yank on his ear.

Hermione was at a loss. She didn't think anything she said could have comforted him but that didn't stop her from wanting to try. She reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder. He twitched under her hand but then collapsed against her. "Master Regulus—" he hiccuped and tried again, "he commanded I leave him! He commanded—" he broke off in another wail before and struggled to get the words out, "that I destroy the locket."

"I can help you," Hermione said softly, feeling the oily slick of Dark Magic from the locket he held even without having to cast the Detection Spell. "I can destroy it. We can do it together, all right?" she asked. He looked up at her with wide, watery-eyes and nodded. "And when that's done I'm going to retrieve Regulus's body and take him home."

The elf howled again, "Kreacher is forbidden to tell his Mistress! Kreacher cannot tell any of the family what happened! Oh, Master Regulus!"

Hermione could take that burden from him. "You don't have to, Kreacher. I'll tell them." She wasn't sure what she was going to tell Walburga and Orion Black about how their son had died but she knew she would. She couldn't leave him here.

She shuffled back to kneel closer to the wall. The water was higher, over her knees now, and she needed to work quickly. Now that she had a moment to think she turned and cast her Torchlight Spell at the cave wall. It illuminated the heavy darkness so she could see what she was doing but it didn't penetrate very far over the lake. She pulled a dragonhide glove onto her hand and dug into her mokeskin pouch to pull out a basilisk fang. Kreacher had quieted as he watched her and she looked up at him. "Set the locket down, Kreacher, and I'll stab it. This should destroy it."

He set it down in front of her and it sunk through the water to settle on the bottom. The chain floated back and forth with the incoming water. He backed up and she swallowed, suddenly nervous. Before she could bring the fang down an image sprang up from the locket and took on the form of Bucky as she remembered him. "No, you don't," she muttered before it could speak. "You don't get to touch those." She slammed the fang down onto the locket and the illusion of Bucky shrieked and cowered but didn't dissipate. She did it again, feeling part of the tooth chip as it came in contact with the locket and the rocks beside it. The water in the lake started churning again and the locket shrieked again. The illusion of Bucky vanished as black liquid seeped from it and spread through the water like blood.

She looked up to see Kreacher looking out at the rippling lake. "Hurry Miss."

"I need to do the rest. The locket wasn't the only one," she explained. She picked up the locket with her bare hand, worried only for a moment that the black liquid would harm her. She shoved it into the mokeskin pouch with the other Horcruxes and repeated the process, pulling out the diary next. She breathed deep and mumbled to herself, "Quick. Don't let it see your memories. It'll just use them against you."

She stabbed the diary twice, the second time so hard that the fang slipped from her grasp and floated out into the water. The water wasn't just over the path now, the tide was coming in and the sea water was connecting with the lake. Her thighs were drenched and freezing cold. If she stayed much longer the Inferi would be able to reach her without coming out of the water, would be able to pull her down too. She grabbed the diary and replaced it in the pouch, pulling the cup out next. It only took one stab with a new fang for blackness to ooze from the metal where she'd impacted it with the fang. The diadem was next and when one of the gems broke off she left it on the rocky bottom under the water. The water had encompassed her thighs now and the elf shouted as she shoved the broken diadem back into her pouch.

A white, slimy hand was grabbing his ankle. She got to her feet, shivering and scared, and grabbed the elf under the arms like a child. As she heaved him up out of the water she kicked the grabbing Inferius in the face. It let go of the elf but reached for her instead. She kicked at it again and lost her balance, falling against the wall of the cavern. She still needed to destroy the ring but she wouldn't be able to bring a fang down on top of it with the water so high nor would she be able to fend off the Inferi. She held tight to Kreacher and waded back through the path towards the entrance.

She couldn't see it and her heart started pounding in her chest. "Where is the entrance, Kreacher?" she asked. She felt another cold, dead hand reach around her calf.

"There Miss!" he pointed farther along and she pushed on. Kreacher squirmed in her arms and then broke free of her grasp. He climbed around her shoulders and clung to her back instead. Another icy hand grabbed her thigh in the water and she thrashed against its grip. She needed a sacrifice for the damn wall; it had closed behind them. She didn't bother reaching for her wand and used a quick motion with her fingers to cut at her hand. She was grabbed again and the motion made her miss, slicing deep into her forearm instead. She shouted in pain as her blood spattered the wall but the rock vanished and the silver archway appeared. A rush of icy seawater crashed into her, knocking her off her feet and into the lake behind her. She gulped in water as she felt arms encircle her neck and waist. She twisted and jerked in their grasp.

In a moment that reminded her of a warm, beautiful day in June on a bright green lawn in the middle of Austria, Hermione felt her magic explode out of her. There was an explosion so loud she went deaf like it had gone off too close to her ears.

Her head buzzed. She was still cold and wet and lying supine but she could breathe again and she panted in the silence. Finally, she opened her eyes. She saw sky, star-dotted and vast. The waning moon was uncovered of clouds and sent its calming glow over everything. She looked around, blinking the sting of salt water from her eyes. She was on the rock where she'd first seen Regulus swim to the cave and she was encased in a bubble like a Bubble-head Charm had enveloped her entire body. Kreacher was laying on the rock beside her. She couldn't tell if he was dead or just resting. She looked back at the cave to see that it wasn't so much a cave anymore as a fissure. The explosion had ripped open the cavern and caused part of the cliff to collapse into the ocean below it. The eerie black lake was open to the air. She could walk over the rocks to it and stay dry aside from the spray of the ocean.

She dismissed the charm and sound came back to her. Without much thought, she cast a spell to dry and warm herself and then reached over to the elf. His skin was cold to the touch and it reminded her of the grabbing hands of the Inferi in the lake. She rolled him over to see his chest quivering as he breathed. She cast a spell at him to warm him and dry what was left of his pillowcase. His eyes opened over his overly large nose and he looked at her. "Miss is..." he said but trailed off to look around at the destruction she'd caused.

"I've got one more Horcrux to destroy and then we're going to..." she looked back towards the lake, "get Regulus and take him home."

* . * . *

**20 March 1979**

"You need to call out Riddle," Hermione said as soon as Dumbledore had joined her in the private room of the Hog's Head. She spoke over the ringing of her wand knowing he tended to set it off and it would be noticeable in the quiet of the room.

"I can't," he said, coming to sit down at the table opposite her. He was frowning at the sticky tabletop between them. "It's not that simple."

"It _is_ that simple. You defeated Grindelwald. You hired me ten years ago. I have as close as access as I'm going to get—for I'm neither a man nor his bed warmer. He's infiltrating the Ministry, as I've said. There's already been skirmishes and bloodshed. It's only going to escalate and soon there will be fighting in the open. He needs to be taken out now before he can establish a foothold in the government and bribe his way into an official position."

He had transferred the frowning look from the table to her. "And I said I cannot. There are things that you don't understand and—"

"Like your reluctance to face him because you fear he'll defeat you and take the Elder Wand, increasing his power?" She wondered if he would deny it. Maybe he would tell her what he knew of Riddle's Horcruxes.

His eyes widened and his hand shifted minutely in his sleeve, palming his wand. "How do you know about that?"

His answer surprised her but she didn't let on. Instead, she smiled widely, intentionally showing off her teeth. "I'm a spy. I know a lot of things." She thought about taunting him with her knowledge about him and August but it wasn't something she cared to bring up. She'd known August's preferences for a long time.

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Yes, I am the current owner of the Elder Wand. I hope to be the last. If I remain undefeated then the power of it will likely disappear. So I cannot be the one to attack Riddle. Perhaps you could...?"

"I could what?" She knew what he was insinuating, of course, but she wanted to hear him say it. Though she was interested to note that he hadn't brought up the Horcruxes. Did he not know about them?

"When you're alone with him, you—"

"No. He's more powerful than I am in a straight-on duel. I don't play odds I can't win." It was a lie, she was almost positive she could kill Voldemort if she had to but she felt like she'd done enough. Thoughts of returning a Regulus Black's body to his parents' home flashed through her mind before she pushed them away. That was something Dumbledore would not care about if his record with other Slytherin students were any indication. Plus, whoever defeated Voldemort would likely gain fame which was something she'd strived to avoid. It would not be her.

"Then we must wait for the appropriate time. In the meantime, I think I should introduce you to a few members of the Order of the Phoenix. Just one or two, so if they see you at a skirmish they—"

"You want me to blow my cover? Before the job is finished? No. I don't need to know who joined your little club. I can guess."

He shook his head in disagreement. "I don't see how you could possibly—"

She sighed. "You groomed them as students just as much as Riddle did. Gryffindors, all. Potter, Black, Lupin, Evans."

"They are good men and women who fight for the right things. How are they supposed to spare you if—"

"If I'm sent for your Order members, Dumbledore, they won't see me coming. Riddle knows my talents and they aren't direct contact. He would send me as an assassin."

He swallowed; the motion was hidden by his long beard but Hermione heard it just fine. She wondered if that made him nervous. She wasn't an assassin, of course, but it was a good bluff. "Has he asked that of you before?"

She stood and gave him a dainty aristocratic shrug. "I think I'm going to go see what Aberforth has in his cooking pot. I'm hungry." She left Dumbledore in the room without giving him an answer.

* . * . *

**31 October 1979**

Hermione adjusted her beret over her cropped, blonde hair and took a sip of her coffee. She was sitting at the airport in the early hours of the morning waiting on her delayed flight to Salem. She'd only sent post to the Witches' Institute last night warning of her impending arrival. She'd told the owl to not receive any return message.

She tapped the small briefcase on the floor with the toe of her shoe to reassure her it was there and then unrolled her copy of the Daily Prophet. On the front page were two brave young men standing next to one another, one of them with his arm bandaged and both of them looking battle-worn. They would have been panting and looking around wild-eyed if she hadn't had charmed the images still.

The headline above the fold read, "Potter and Black save the world!"

Two weeks after Dumbledore refused to go after Riddle, Hermione had approached Potter and Black. They hadn't wanted to talk to her, having heard that she'd been seen attending Death Eater gatherings. She had deflected every spell they'd thrown her way and when they grew tired, patiently reminded them about what she'd told them about her former profession. She also confessed to Black how she'd seen his brother die and told him that he died a hero, defying Voldemort. The poor boy had collapsed into tears; he hadn't known his brother was dead. It had broken her heart all over again.

It took her six months to work with them, training them to duel dirty and use physical attacks like a Muggle, before she felt they were ready to take on Tom Riddle. Seeing their victory in print made her feel accomplished in a way she hadn't felt in a very long time.

She read through the article twice, committing it to memory, and then flipped to the next page. He wrist didn't make the gentle jingling sound when she turned it anymore and she rubbed over the spot where her bracelet used to be. She focused again on the words of the paper. It wasn't until she got to the fourth page that she found what she was looking for.

_Late last night, Aurors were called to a disturbance in Hogsmeade at the home of one Mildred Carter. The inside of the home had been ransacked and two persons were found dead at the scene, August Pohl and Mildred Carter herself._

_It's thought that Pohl, a German Nazi-sympathizer and a supposed confidant to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was outraged when his fiancée Mildred Carter, who disappeared from his life thirty-four years ago, refused to wed him._

_Carter, age 57 and an orphan who attended Hogwarts from 34–41, was a spy for British Intelligence during the second world war. She worked at Flourish and Blotts for many years after the war and also boasted a resume that included three years at the Ministry of Magic and one year as Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. She spent the majority of her life in private study._

_Pohl, 98, attended Durmstrang alongside Grindelwald and taught Dark Arts at the same for 19 years only leaving to join his brothers as a supporter of the National Socialist party at the beginning of World War II. He retired to Britain in 1951 after his last living brother was hanged to death for his crimes. Neither had surviving family._

Hermione nodded, glad that trashing her home had painted the scene she'd intended. It also obscured the fact that some of her belongings and clothes were missing. Not that anyone had ever visited her home to notice those sorts of things but she wanted to be thorough. She tucked her newspaper into her purse and stood, picking up her briefcase. She went to the women's restrooms and shut herself in a stall. She set up a Noise-Cancelling Spell before casting her Patronus. The bear didn't really fit in the space but he made do as best he could.

"I'm going to miss you, Abe. Thanks for looking out for me. It meant the world."

She tied the message to the bear and sent him off. She opened the door. There was a woman changing a newborn baby at the table and Hermione made to move past her when she caught sight of curly hair and a face she had always worried she'd forget. She almost blurted out, "Mum," before she stopped herself. Instead, she smiled at little baby Hermione in her adorable white dress and told Jean Granger a simple, "she's a cute baby."

Jean looked up and smiled. "Thanks."

In her chest, Hermione's heart gave a painful thud. She wanted to talk more with her but Jean had already returned her attention to her child.

Hermione adjusted her grip on her briefcase and left the restroom, glad to see the sign that said her plane was boarding. She couldn't stray from her plan. It wouldn't do any good to stay and befriend Jean. She couldn't save baby Hermione from the pair of wizards who would come take her away from her mother. She couldn't comfort her mother over the loss of her baby in five years. Not without living the horrible lie that her daughter would never come home. Not as she knew her.

So she boarded the plan that would take her to her next life in Salem. After that, she planned to inquire at Ilvermorny about whether they had had a student named Steven Sousa. It was one avenue she had not had a chance to investigate since Dumbledore had brought it up over a decade ago. Now that she had the time, she wanted to see if there was any truth to what he'd claimed or if it had been a bluff like she'd thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *end of part two*


	23. Chapter 23

**22 July 2016**

"Even if the whole world is telling you to move. It is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say, 'No. You move,'" Sharon Carter said, finishing up her eulogy about Peggy. As she walked away, Hermione's gaze slipped back to the flag-draped casket. The pain in her heart, when she thought about her sister, was immeasurable. She didn't know she could miss someone so much.

Thirty years spent working at the Witches' Institute had helped Hermione keep up with her studies and she'd helped a lot of women but when Elspeth had died seven years ago, Hermione had retired. She had hidden away in a small house fifty miles south of Salem. It was a tiny town and she had picked up part-time employment at the library there. She kept to herself, ate regularly at the diner, and adopted a kneazle. She was the only Magical in the population and when asked about her life before moving to the quiet town she only talked about England and a boarding school in Scotland. She hadn't earned an unflattering name aside from "that sweet young lady at the library." She expected comments about "the cat lady" eventually but they hadn't happened yet.

Sharon was the youngest of Hermione's grand-nieces and nephews. Her dad, Harry—Edith and Michael's boy—had died of cancer four years ago. Of Peggy's children, only Michele had had her own. She was living in California with her husband and two boys. Steven, who had not been a wizard, had joined the military and participated in the Gulf War. He died there at the age of thirty-three.

Hermione had not planned on making her presence known here today. She was just going to attend the funeral, check to make sure Michele and Sharon were okay, and then return to her quiet life of obscurity. But something, someone rather, had caught her eye and she couldn't walk away. When she'd seen him, her stomach had flipped over. Hermione had heard about the miraculous recovery of Captain America, had even seen video clips of him fighting aliens in New York, but to see Steve in person after so long... she just couldn't walk away without speaking to him. If only to share a few minutes of silence in Peggy's memory.

She followed him from the church to a hotel lobby where he sat and talked with Sharon long enough to have a cup of tea. They stood and he escorted her towards the elevators. She figured Sharon, who worked in intelligence, might be capable of keeping a secret so she headed their way. She knew she looked out of place, wearing a black wool suit similar to what Peggy had worn to her funeral. The only addition was a pillbox hat over her shoulder-length brown curls and a black lace blusher veil. As she approached the pair, she removed the veil.

Sharon noticed her approaching first and blinked twice at her before saying, "You look like Aunt Peggy's sister; she always had a photograph of her with her."

Hermione smiled at the thought. She'd always kept a picture of Peggy with her too. "You look like Edith."

The blonde's nose wrinkled adorably in confusion. "Grandma Edith? How would you—?"

Steve had been staring at her, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. When she pushed her pin curls back from her face to tuck behind her ear, he blurted, "Millie?"

She turned and looked up at him—Merlin, she'd forgotten how tall he was—and said as calmly as she could, "Hi Steve."

* . * . *

Steve felt his mouth fall open in shock as he stared at the brunette in front of him. She looked like she'd stepped directly out of the past—she was even wearing gloves and stockings. "You look... I mean... How?" he asked, knowing it was rude.

She smiled and at last, he could see some age on her face. There were a few wrinkles at her eyes and around her mouth.

"Wait," Sharon said, looking just as shocked to see Millie as he did, "You mean you _are_ Mildred Carter?"

Millie shrugged and nodded. "It's a long story."

"But—" Steve started even though he didn't know what he was going to say, to ask. He'd read that she died. Hanged herself after the war. How had...

"Steve?" Sam said, walking up to them and speaking over Millie's shoulder, "There's something you've got to see."

"What is it?" Sharon asked.

"It's all over the news," Sam said, "The UN was bombed."

Behind them, the elevator dinged. "Upstairs," Sharon said, "We'll watch it on the TV in my room." Steve could see the tension in her shoulders as she turned around and reached out to hold the door, Millie followed. He and Sam joined them.

Sam turned in the small space and did a once-over of Millie, taking in her 40s look. He squinted as he studied her face and then said, "Who are you?"

"Sam—"

"Millie Carter, Peggy's sister," she spoke over him.

Sam's eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise. "Much younger sister?"

"By a year and a half," she said and gave him a little shrug.

Sam turned his head and gave Steve a look that said, Is she joking with me right now? and all Steve could do was shake his head. He was just as shocked as Sam was by her appearance. She had to be in her nineties by now. He wondered how she'd come to be in the future still looking like she did. He almost wanted to reach out and touch her to see if she was real; he stuffed his hands in his pockets instead. The elevator dinged and Sharon led the way to her hotel room. She opened the door and entered first, heading directly to the TV and turning it on as she pulled out her cellphone.

The news showed the decimated UN building with clouds of smoke and concrete dust still hovering around it. Parts of the building were still burning. The newscaster speaking over the footage, however, made the terrible sight worse. "More than 70 people have been injured. At least 12 are dead including Wakanda's King T'Chaka. Officials have released a video of a suspect who they have identified as James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier, the infamous HYDRA agent linked to numerous acts of terrorism and political assassinations."

Steve's stomach swooped at hearing Bucky's name. This couldn't be happening. They hadn't heard a whisper about Bucky's location since he'd gone to ground after Shield fell.

"I've got to get there. He might have left a trail," Steve said.

"I've got to go to work," Sharon said, nodding, then she was bustling around them, repacking her suitcase.

It was settled, then, they should grab their bags and get to the airport. He sucked in a breath and started to turn around to go grab his own bag before he remembered Millie was in the room. He turned to her to see that her eyes were narrowed as she watched the replying footage on the screen. "Are you... Did you know that he was alive?" The bottom of his feet were burning with the need to go, but he could try to be sensitive considering who she was.

"Yes," she said. She looked up at him. "I found him last year. After all that information was leaked."

Sam turned and directed his attention to Millie. "How?"

Steve didn't care how so much as what state Bucky was in. Why would he bomb a building and be so sloppy about it considering all his previous work, Project Insight excluded? "Did you talk to him? What does he remember?"

She looked down. "I didn't speak with him."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"I reckoned he knew where Steve was and didn't seek him out. Why would he want to talk to me?" She paused to turn her head and watch Sharon zipping up her case. Steve remembered what Bucky and Millie's last few encounters were like and could concede her point. Almost. He knew Bucky. If only they'd had more time. He felt the same stinging pain of what-might-have-beens when he thought about him and Peggy. "As difficult as it is for me to admit," she said turning her attention back to him and Sam, "I wasn't brave enough to put myself in that position. I was content to see that he was alive and safe." Her eyes looked past them to track the television footage. "He's not safe any longer. I will do whatever is in my power, considerable as it is, to fix that."

"I'm not sure what you think you can do, umm, Aunt, umm—"

"Millie," she offered to Sharon, "Just Millie is fine."

Sharon smiled and heaved her suitcase off the bed. Steve stepped forward and reached for it and she let him take it. "I don't know what you think you can do but with the Accords, this is my jurisdiction," Sharon said.

"Sharon... " he said. He didn't want to ask her to compromise her job for him but knew that he needed to be the one to find Bucky. To bring him in. He'd make up the reason later.

She didn't give him a chance to ask. "And if whatever we dig up on his whereabouts happens to fall into your hands before my boss's, well..."

"Thank you." She nodded in acknowledgement.

* . * . *

_**14 June 1944** _

_Steve had trouble sleeping, though instead of sleep apnea or some other problem, it was because his hearing was extremely sensitive. So it was nothing to be awoken randomly after he'd turned in for the night. He waited for the noise to repeat itself in case it was something important and while he waited he listened._

_He could hear a soldier with stomach trouble using the pit latrine on the other side of camp, several dozen men snoring and bedding rustling, and Bucky breathing and shifting beside him. Then the noise came again, the sound of fingers scratching at their tent canvas and a feminine whispered, "Bucky?"_

_"Wha?" Bucky murmured to the woman on the other side of the tent flap. When she pulled it back, Steve caught the shift in light behind his closed eyelids. "Millie!" Bucky whispered. He heard Millie Carter slip into their pup tent. "Button it up behind you."_

_Bucky's bunk creaked as she joined him on it. "Hey, look, we've got a bed," she whispered._

_"It sure looks that way," Bucky answered. "Now, what was it we were going to do if we ever got around to finding a bed?"_

_What followed sounded like kissing and a lot of shifting around. Steve felt the breeze as someone's clothes were tossed to the floor between the bunks. A few moments later Millie made a whimpering sound and Bucky's whisper was muffled. "Got to be quiet, doll. Bite the pillow."_

_Steve couldn't help it and he opened his eyes when she whimpered again. In the semi-darkness, he could see her laying on her back, arms up and tugging at her own hair. Her face was turned towards him but her eyes were closed. Her teeth were bared and clamped onto the corner of Bucky's pillow. The blanket was pulled low and her breasts were bare; they jiggled as she wiggled and squirmed. Steve blinked and studied the scene across from him for a moment before he identified the human-shaped lump at the foot of the bed under the blanket as Bucky. The blanket moved a little as Bucky shifted and Steve could see his fingers wrapped around the pale skin of Millie's thigh._

_He knew he shouldn't be watching. Should have rolled over and buried his head under his pillow when he realised what was happening but now he couldn't stop watching, couldn't stop listening. There was a wet, sucking sound and a quiet but repetitive squick-squick that reminded him of masturbating. Millie moaned and curled forward, her hands pressing against what Steve assumed was the back of Bucky's head._

_There was a low chuckle and a whispered, "That's my girl," from Bucky. He crawled up her body and Steve quickly closed his eyes. She might not have been paying attention but he didn't have any doubt that Bucky would look over at him to make sure he was asleep._

_There was more kissing and a minute or so later, Bucky moaned quietly. Steve opened his eyes again, hoping his friend would be too distracted to notice he was being watched. The top of Bucky's back was all the skin Steve saw, at first; the blanket covered the rest but it didn't disguise the movement underneath it._

_If he wasn't worried about being caught, now might be a good time for him to relieve his own tension but he knew any movement on his part might catch Bucky's attention. He didn't want to do that to his best friend. He might not be embarrassed but he didn't doubt Millie would be._

_The blanket slipped low on Bucky's back. Millie shifted to wrap her legs around the small of his back and the blanket slipped right off the side of the bed in between the bunks. Steve's eyes widened at the amount of skin he saw. Bucky turned to grab the blanket to pull back over them and froze. Steve was caught. They stared at each other for a moment before Steve squeezed his eyes shut. Millie whimpered a dissatisfied noise and the sound of thrusting started back up._

_Bucky started whispering. "You're so pretty, doll, all wrapped around me. You feel so good, sweetheart. Mmm... Jesus Christ, Millie! Yes, yes, please. Do that again." He groaned and Steve opened his eyes again. The blanket was covering them again, for the most part, but he could see Bucky's white-knuckled grip on the side of the bunk where he held himself up. The sound of thrusting slowed to a stop and he chuckled, sounding pleased with himself._

_They kissed deeply and Bucky manoeuvred them so that he was on his back on the bunk and Millie was laying on top of him. The blanket slipped down past her shoulders and Steve could see the creamy skin of her upper back. He watched her shoulders heave with her panting breath. When they settled, Steve closed his eyes again. He figured they were done and he should try to sleep._

_A few minutes later, Millie whispered, "Bucky?" She sounded confused._

_"Hmm?"_

_There was a little shuffling sound and then, "Did we forget the condom?"_

_"Goddammit," Bucky cursed, "I... I'm so sorry, doll. I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he let out a panicked sounding whimper. "I uh, we..."_

_"It's fine, Bucky, I'll take care of it," she answered._

_There was another hurt little whimper at her pronouncement. "I'll, I can..."_

_"It's fine," she said again._

_"Marry me!" Bucky said quickly, louder than their previous whispers._

_"What?"_

_"Marry me," Bucky repeated, more confident this time. "I'll take care of you. I won't let this mess things up, all right? They'll probably take you off the front lines but that's good, right? I'm not going to let this ruin your reputation. Not for me. Come on, doll."_

_"Bucky, nothing's going to..."_

_But Steve didn't think he was listening. "What do you say, sweetheart? Will you be my wife?"_

_"No," her voice wavered on the word like it was extremely difficult to say. "Not... not for... not like this."_

_Steve could feel the tension in the air when her answer registered to both of them._

_"Oh," Bucky said. Steve wasn't sure he could imagine how vulnerable and upset his best friend looked in that moment. He wished he wasn't in the tent with them; he shouldn't be witness to this. "Uh." There was shuffling and a thud that might have been Bucky intentionally rolling off his bunk. Clothes rustled. "Here." They dressed in silence and the bunk creaked when she got up. There was a flicker of light as the tent flap was unbuttoned. "Millie, I'm sorry," he tried again but it was silent; she was gone._

_There was a thump and a creak where Bucky must have thrown himself back onto his bed. Steve could hear his breath coming heavy and a few hard sniffs that meant he was emotional. "Fuck."_


	24. Chapter 24

**22 June 2016**

Hermione sat next to Steve on the plane ride from London to Vienna. She had offered to pay for the ticket but he just waved her off. Now that they were in the air, she wanted to talk with him but she didn't know what to say.

"So..." he said quietly. He cleared his throat and looked up at her without turning his head fully. "How did you come to be in this... century?" he half smiled at his ridiculous line. He glanced in front of him at his friend's seat. "I didn't actually introduce you to Sam," he said, chiding himself.

She hummed a little note and said, "I lived it."

He looked at her fully then. "How?" His head twitched like he wanted to shake it. "You don't look any..."

She smiled, knowing the action showed off the crow's feet and laugh lines she was finally starting to sport. "It's a long story."

He looked around at the aeroplane and then returned his gaze to her. "Longer than two or three hours?"

She figured she could explain in three hours but she didn't want to do so here. "More private than a plane."

He nodded, his gaze going back to his lap. "All right. I'll hold you to that."

"What are the Accords?"

He sat back in his seat and took a deep breath. "Rules. It was proposed to rein the Avengers in, give us oversight. We were destroying a lot of property and unable to save everybody. You know about Sokovia, right?"

She nodded but he seemed like he needed to keep talking.

"A hundred and seventeen countries apparently signed them. They want to put us on a leash. Only send the Avengers where they want us to go. What if we're needed somewhere and they don't want to send us? Or the other way around? If they want us to go someplace we don't think we should go? We're not a private army. And..." he shook his head again like he wasn't sure he should keep talking.

"And?"

"They said if we didn't sign we are retired. That's all fine for the Avengers who put on specialized suits and can take them off... but those of us who are enhanced? Ross referred to Banner and Thor like they were weapons. We're not weapons. We're fucking people. I didn't get a chance to look at the entire thing but I had a feeling they were going to want to keep us... contained." He sighed and looked back at her, scrutinizing her face again. "You're enhanced somehow, aren't you? Gotta be."

"Something like that," Hermione answered and then to give him a little bit more to satisfy his curiosity while her brain was busy freaking out about what the Accords would mean for Magical people she added, "I was born with some of it."

He lowered his gaze and sighed again before looking at the other passengers.

She took the time to think about the day. They'd put Peggy in the ground that morning and now this. If she didn't have the Occlumency practice she had she wouldn't know what to do with herself. She wondered if Steve's enhanced brain increased his ability to compartmentalize too.

"I should look for Bucky by myself," she muttered.

"Absolutely not. He's dangerous."

"I'm dangerous, Steve," she said, meeting his eyes.

"We don't know why he set off the bomb. He could be compromised. HYDRA could have recaptured him."

"Don't you think that if he were back under HYDRA control, he wouldn't have been seen? That footage has him looking directly at the camera."

His brow furrowed like he was thinking about her words, after another moment though he looked back up to her. "You're not doing this alone. I don't know what you could do but..." he shook his head and pressed his lips together like he was trying to keep himself quiet. "If he hurt you while under their control..." He trailed off.

She turned away from him to think. She wasn't sure what she was going to do. How far was she willing to go to make sure Bucky was safe? Was she willing to break the Statute of Secrecy? Yes. Would she run from the Obliviation team when they came for her? Yes. Probably. Maybe. She didn't know.

What would happen if the magical world was exposed? Would the governments of the world attempt to intern all of them as "enhanced?" She'd been taught at Hogwarts that mass exposure would lead to war and subjugation. Could she endanger every other magical person in the world to keep Bucky safe?

She blinked and looked back at Steve before closing her eyes. She wasn't a good person like he was.

* . * . *

_**24 December 2015** _

_Hermione had been playing one of those mindless, time-consuming games on Facebook on her tablet at her library job when news started trending about SHIELD and HYDRA and all of their classified files were dumped onto the internet. She had a flashback to going back to London with Peggy after her torture, hearing all about HYDRA and what had happened to Bucky. She downloaded every single file she could find._

_The files were digitally encrypted but a simple search to crack it brought up a website that had already done it. The files themselves were in a multitude of languages and some of those were also encrypted like the sorts of things she had deciphered at Bletchley. It was only a matter of half an hour before she was reading the first of many files detailing how HYDRA had infiltrated Peggy's brainchild._

_It took longer than she was willing to admit to realise that the Winter Soldier program, with its proprietary torture methods and strict protocols, were done to a human and not an animal. When she first came across Bucky's name as the Winter Soldier she vomited her dinner and cried. Never could she have imagined that while she was living a life of leisure and reading with a single decade of espionage, Bucky was still alive and suffering at the many hands of HYDRA and the KGB._

_She found some of the first medical documents related to the Winter Soldier project and was horrified to read how they'd amputated and replaced Bucky's arm with a metal monstrosity. She briefly wondered how he'd coped before she realized that with all the torture and brainwashing and mind control he probably never had the chance._

_When she'd finally been startled out of reading, she was confused. The sheriff was at the door looking at her oddly. "Miss Carter?" he'd asked. "Do you realize it's five in the morning?"_

_She blinked. Her eyes were dry and she was hungry. She must have read for hours. "I got caught up reading," she said. His eyebrows had raised in consideration. She supposed it didn't seem far-fetched for a librarian and he nodded._

_"Why don't you head on home?" He said. "The library's usually closed on Mondays anyway."_

_"Of course," she said. She started gathering up her stuff, making sure to cradle her tablet close. That was her link to Bucky and she wasn't going to lose it._

_It took two months for her to read through every file from the SHIELD–HYDRA dump. It took four after that to plan her strategy. She could use a Point-Me spell but they only worked within 100 kilometres. She wouldn't just be able to wander the country and the world without a method to her search._

_Eighteen months. She spent eighteen months on the road, following her plan. While she travelled on public transit from city to town to city, she knitted. She had taught herself during one of the long, lonely years as a professor at Salem and she'd made plenty of things for herself and the donation boxes in Muggle places. Now, though, she knitted and weaved spells into the fabric. Warming spells, soothing spells, spells for recovering memory and recuperating from trauma._

_When she did find Bucky, in Bucharest, she watched him from across the market. It was Christmas Eve and the stalls were crowded and noisy. He was wearing layers upon layers and his hair had grown long. He was buying winter greens. A small child rushed past, bumped into his leg, and started to topple over but he reached down and caught her shoulder. He knelt and spoke to her, his Romanian a little stilted but understandable, and he smiled at her._

_Hermione squeezed the burgundy wool jumper she'd knitted and held it close as she watched him._

_What was she doing?_

_Eighteen months. Twenty-four months since he'd disappeared when SHIELD–HYDRA went down and here he was living his life. He hadn't sought out Steve, who he knew was alive. Steve, his best friend. Even if he knew she was alive he wouldn't seek her out, wouldn't care. She was just a dame who he'd had a fling with back in the war. They'd never even confessed their feelings for each other. She didn't know if he'd even had feelings for her. He'd only proposed because he'd forgotten the condom._

_She swallowed and looked away from him. What was she doing here? He wouldn't want to see her. If he even remembered her. She was old now. Old in ways that didn't show on her skin. And even if she did approach him and he did remember her and he did have feelings for her and he did want to try their relationship again... there was still the dilemma of the Statute of Secrecy. She couldn't tell him who she was, not really._

_Her heart thumped heavily in her chest as one of her greatest fears flooded her thoughts. When she blinked and glanced around, he was gone. She looked down at the jumper in her hands. This jumper that she'd poured her heart, her love, her intent into. What if...?_

_She couldn't do it. She wasn't brave enough._

_She looked around again and spotted someone who looked cold. She handed him the jumper and at his confused look told him to keep it. With the jumper out of her hands, they felt cold and she tucked them into her pockets. She needed to leave. There was no reason to be here. She needed to go home._

* . * . *

**23 June 2016**

Hermione was impressed with how quickly Sharon was able to get information about Bucky's whereabouts. It seemed he hadn't left Bucharest. She accompanied Steve and Wilson on another short flight to get there. She said she wanted to be there but Steve had been the one in charge and said no. In a compromise, she would be on the roof with Wilson while Steve entered the small flat.

She was even given a comms device for her ear. When the roof was compromised by a German Strike Team and she Apparated silently to another rooftop nearby, she was surprised when the communication device continued to work. Not that the sound of gunshots and grunts of pain gave her much to work with. She followed at a distance when Bucky ran but couldn't keep up with them when they went into the tunnel. All she could do was watch when they were surrounded and arrested.

Hermione followed and listened to the Germans talking before concluding that they were being taken to a Counter Terrorism Centre in Berlin. She then made her way to the magical enclave in Bucharest and paid for a Portkey to the German capital. She'd catch a night sleep while she waited for the convoy to drive the distance. She let a cheap hotel room near the Centre once she was in Berlin and tried to sleep. She woke up before the sun from a nightmare of the war brought on by all the gunshots. Instead of trying to return to sleep, she decided to sketch out a plan for breaking Bucky and Steve out of the mess they were in.

She watched the convoy drive up and head below ground. She left her suitcase and her change of clothes at the hotel, willing to sacrifice them if need be, as she headed towards the Centre. Before she could even make it to the desk people started running out. Fleeing. She hid and used a Point-Me Spell to determine where Bucky might have been. When her wand tipped up and almost fell out of her hand, she turned and followed the building, looking up. She watched as a broken helicopter fell into the Spree River. She held her breath as she waited and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she saw two bodies surface farther away.

She cast a Disillusionment Charm and followed at a distance.

Wilson joined them. He helped pull both from the river. When Steve hauled Bucky up into his arms and carried him, she realised something was wrong. But Steve didn't look distraught so she concluded that Bucky was still alive.

They followed the river into the industrial section of the city and were hypervigilant to the helicopters that were starting to patrol back and forth. When they ducked into one building and didn't come back out, Hermione decided it was time to see what the hell had happened. She knew better than just waltzing in and cast about for some idea to alert them of her presence but make it absolutely positive that it was her. When it came to her, she smiled, remembering.

She started whistling _God Save the Queen_.

She got through two repeats before she heard an answering call and headed in the direction it came from. Wilson was looking at Steve like he was crazy when she walked in. She released the Disillusionment Charm only when she was standing beside them. Steve was watching her like he'd seen through her spell, but Wilson's eyebrows had risen up his forehead.

"What the hell is that?" Sam asked. "Is that what you did on the rooftop back in Bucharest? Disappearing on me and shit?"

"Sorry," she apologised. She turned to Steve, who had finally started to dry off from their dip in the river. "Where is he? What happened back there?"

"Before or after you bailed?" Wilson asked, still sounding peeved.

"I was on the overpass when you were arrested. What happened at the Counter Terrorist Centre?"

"The Winter Soldier broke out," Steve said.

Wilson nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. "He had help. A doctor, or at least, a man posing as a doctor. Winter Soldier in there," he said, gesturing back to the room behind him with a tip of his head, "killed two, maybe three dozen men and women on his way out. And then hit his head; we're waiting for him to wake up." His lips pursed.

Steve nodded and gestured with a nod. Wilson seemed to understand that and turned around to walk across the large, empty space of the abandoned warehouse. He stopped at a doorway and settled himself against it, getting comfortable as he waited and watched.

After a moment, Hermione turned back to Steve and raised her eyebrows.

He shook his head. "He seemed fine. Angry, maybe. He didn't kill any of the Strike Team in Bucharest... but then here, something happened, triggered him, and then it was like fighting with a machine again. He didn't stop until he hit his head so hard he passed out." He licked his lips and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. The sound of a low flying helicopter moving slowly rumbled close. They waited, willing it to pass them by.

When it was gone, she whispered. "Did you get any sleep?"

He smiled like he was amused at her mothering. "I might have dozed in the car ride here. You?"

She nodded. "Got here last night. Cheap hotel room within sight of the Centre."

"How did you find us?"

"Would you believe me if I said a little birdy told me?" she asked, recalling the same excuse she'd used ages ago.

He rolled his eyes at her. "I'm less inclined to believe it this time than last time. I wasn't far off when I told Bucky you were following us back then, was I?"

"I have a way of finding anyone, eventually."

He shook his head in disbelief. "You could have found him before the Terrorist Team, then? Faster than Sharon had?"

"No," she disagreed. "I can only find someone within 100 kilometres. It took me a year and a half to find him last time. If I hadn't assumed he'd moved on..." she crossed her arms over her chest. "I found him in Bucharest before. I hadn't expected him to have stayed this long."

"I worry he's not the Bucky we remember anymore," Steve confessed, his voice the barest hint above a whisper. She wondered if he had expected her to hear it.

"Hey, Steve!" Wilson called. Bucky must be waking up, then.

"You want to talk to him?" Steve asked her.

Hermione opened her mouth but nothing came out. She wanted to say yes, she needed to say no. "I'll just listen. He doesn't need to see me. I'm dead, remember?"

"How many times have you done that?"

"Twice and it's probably time to do it again." He frowned at her.

"Are you sure? You might not get another chance."

She nodded, unable to put to voice her answer. He turned and jogged to where Sam was still watching Bucky. She followed with quiet steps.

"Steve?" she heard Bucky ask. His voice was scratchy from lack of use and Hermione had to war with herself between closing her eyes to remember how he sounded in every memory or keep her eyes open to confirm that he was really there in front of her. The latter won. A Disillusionment spell had her fading from view again and she stepped closer, unable to stop herself.

He'd lost the layers he'd worn earlier, lost his backpack. His burgundy shirt was torn and he looked dirty. The blood at his temple had seeped down into the stubble of his beard. She itched to reach out and heal the wound, to at least clean up the blood. She made to take another step closer but Steve had moved forward to release Bucky's metal arm from the hydraulic press they'd locked him in.

When he was free he thanked them and then explained more about the other Winter Soldiers he mentioned. Hermione's mind was making notes of locations and abilities as she moved even closer, almost within touching distance. Steve and Sam stepped to the side to discuss their next move.

Grit on the ground crunched under her shoe and she froze. Bucky looked up at the sound, eyebrows narrowing as he looked in her direction. Could he see through her spell too? His eyes shifted left and right as he scanned his surroundings but he didn't seem to notice her. When Steve turned back to address Bucky again, Hermione moved back to the shadows behind him.

* . * . *

After Steve and Sam decided their next step, to contact Clint and ask him to pick up Wanda, Steve updated Millie on the plan and asked if she would be coming with them. She declined and said, "I have a few things I need to pick up if there's going to be a fight. I'll meet you at the airport tomorrow."

"You don't have to do this, you know," he told her.

"I know." She gave him a little smile that seemed so different from the happy ones he'd seen her give back in the war. He knew going into the ice and coming out had changed him. Living those same long years instead didn't sound any more appealing. She didn't have bags under her eyes but there was something to her countenance... she looked tired. "I'll see you at the airport." She disappeared from sight. He could still hear her heartbeat though. He watched the empty space in front of him and let his eyes follow where he heard that steady thump until she was out of the warehouse and out of earshot.

"Yeah, thanks Clint," Sam said, coming back into the garage from where he'd stepped out to call Clint. "So he's going to get Wanda. I also got a text from an unlisted number of a lat/long address and a time. GPS shows the address as underneath an underpass."

"Do you think that's Sharon with our gear?"

"Are we trusting everybody today, then? She going to whistle some random song at you?" Steve glanced over his shoulder at Bucky but he didn't seem to be paying any attention to them. He was rubbing at his neck like he was hurting. "Or will she have some secret code to prove that she's who you think she is?"

Steve sighed, "Sam, I know, those aren't things that make them trustworthy to you. I get it. But I trust them. Can you trust me?"

He pursed his lips and looked past Steve to Bucky. "We should see about getting you cleaned up before we move out. Blood like that's bound to attract notice."

Steve nodded, turned around, and looked at Bucky. "What sort of car should we steal?"

* . * . *

_**28 January 1945** _

_Steve put his hand on Bucky's shoulder after they ducked into their tent for the night. He knew seeing Millie like that—all gaunt and thin from starvation, flinching at being touched—it would be hard for Bucky. He knew that his friend cared about her. He hadn't expected his friend to slip back into that thousand-yard stare he'd had when he was on that table in Kreischberg, though. He wished there was something he could do for either of them._

_They undressed and crawled onto their cots. They didn't bother with the lantern. In the dark, he heard Bucky roll to face him. "Steve?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"I thought she was pregnant. When she didn't show up for a while." Steve wasn't sure what to say but it didn't seem like he needed to say anything, Bucky kept talking. "I tried not to think about it. What would she do, would she be okay? Would she have gone back to England? Would I ever see her again? And then... but what if she was? Had been when she was captured? Would she have even known? I—" When he took his next breath it sounded wet and Steve's heart wanted to break for his best friend. "I wanted to marry her. Want to marry her. Find a little house in the English countryside or—"_

_"You don't like English food that much to give up Brooklyn," Steve teased. He had to, otherwise, he might cry with Bucky._

_"I'd do it for her. Wherever she wanted to live. Doesn't matter, I just want to be with her." There was a pause and Steve wasn't sure if Bucky was done. He breathed quietly and waited, just in case. "I love her, Steve. I wanted to tell her, needed to tell her, but you dumbasses wouldn't leave and I couldn't... I couldn't—"_

_Steve understood, he couldn't have both Steve and Peggy there if Millie rejected him again, couldn't bear to have his humiliation witnessed like that. Witnessed again._

_"Next time I see her, I'll do it right. I'll tell her how much I love her and go down on one knee and give her a ring and everything. You'll help me find the right ring, yeah? After this next mission? After we capture Zola?"_

_"Yeah, Buck, of course, but you know she'll love whatever you pick."_

_"But it's got to be just the right one." He sniffed and Steve could hear him swallowing snot instead of bothering to grab his handkerchief to blow his nose. "Next time I see her."_


	25. Chapter 25

**23 June 2016**

After Hermione had left Steve, Bucky, and Wilson in the garage, she Apparated back to her hotel room. She sorted out what she would wear for a fight against super soldiers and added an Undetectable Extension Charm to one of the pockets stitched on the front of her jacket. Then she sought out the magical enclave in Berlin. With a Featherlight Charm on her suitcase, she posted it back home. The poor owl would have to make a few stops along the way but she couldn't see the point in buying two more Portkeys to get her home and then back here just to take her suitcase home. At the apothecary, Hermione purchased some Dittany and a few other first-aid potions. Any of the more deadly potions or poisons she could think to use against five super soldiers were too complicated or would take too long to make.

She then went into their darker shops and inquired about buying a Boggart. The shopkeep looked at her like she'd lost her mind but she was sure he probably had one in one of the cupboards in the back. With the right amount of gold, she was able to convince the shopkeep to part with the Boggart and an empty black glass jar. She enlarged it near the cupboard and ushered the Boggart out of the cupboard and into the jar without giving it a chance to change into anything. She then shrunk the jar and tucked it into the pocket of her jacket. She knew a Boggart wouldn't slow anyone down for long but it might give a super soldier pause seeing as how they wouldn't be able to kill it. She had no idea what a HYDRA super soldier would be afraid of.

She knew her own fears.

Not that she could defeat a Boggart in the traditional sense. She could, however, muster up enough courage to contain the amortal creature back in its new home if need be.

As she laid down for the night, she cast a Point-Me Spell for Bucky. Her wand spun on her palm, so she knew they were out of the city. She hoped they would find a place to bed down for the night and didn't sleep in whatever car they had decided to steal.

It was early in the morning when Hermione checked out of her hotel with an illusion of a suitcase so as to not attract attention. She used her phone to check Google Maps and picked a spot near the airport where she was meant to meet Steve's crew. With a quick glance around to check for cameras or people, she Apparated to the spot she picked. At her new location, she again checked for cameras before determining that she'd done well with her Apparition choice. Google Maps were so much easier than topography maps.

She headed for the parking garage to wait for the rest of the team.

She was sitting against a yellow bollard near the entrance of the multi-story car park under a Disillusionment Charm when an unmarked white van drove up and parked on the end of a row. No one got out. She wondered if this was Clint and Wanda.

Half an hour later, a dark blue Volkswagen drove in, taking the corner fast. They parked two spaces away from the van. Steve got out at the same time the van's driver side door opened. As the group were exiting the vehicles, Steve looked up and around. When his gaze stopped to rest on her invisible form, she pursed her lips. She was going to have to ask him how he did that. He tipped his chin up and she stood and walked closer, letting the Disillusionment Charm fade as she did so.

The four other people turned to look at her and Wilson said, "You're going to have to tell me how you do that. Is that your superpower?"

The woman was looking at her with her head tipped to the side. "I can't see inside your head." She sounded nervous.

"Be thankful for that," Hermione answered her, ignoring Wilson. He still looked peeved with her. She supposed she should apologize for disappearing on him whenever she got the chance. "So what's the plan?" she asked, looking at the team Steve had pulled together. Her gaze caught on Bucky. He looked better, cleaner. He was staring at her warily. She took a deep breath and returned her attention to Steve. He was looking at her oddly as well, almost like his big heart was breaking as he realised Bucky didn't recognise her.

She hadn't truly expected him to, she'd even told herself so in Romania when she'd sought him out. It didn't hurt any less to see it.

"I've got a chopper lined up," the older man, Clint, said.

Steve was nodding, "We'll get in battle gear to be ready in case the doctor has the Winter Soldiers awake by the time we get there."

There was a click and the loudspeaker in the car park turned on. The airport was being evacuated. Bucky translated the German for everyone else.

"Stark," Steve said, sharing a look with Wilson.

"That changes the game plan," Clint said. "They'll have come on a Quinjet, most likely."

"And that helicopter you lined up will be a diversion. We just need to find which hanger has the Quinjet," Steve said. He looked at Wilson and then back over his shoulder at Bucky. "Suit up. We'll split up. You two, Clint and Wanda, and I'll spring their trap."

"And me?" Hermione asked, grinning.

"You'll be beside me, Millie," he gestured with his hand, "With that invisible trick if you will."

"Whatever you need, Captain."

While Steve changed into his battle gear in the van, Wanda and Clint stood outside, still staring at her with thinly veiled distrust. "So, who are you? What's your schtick?" Clint asked as he handed her a comms device for her ear.

She answered as she put it in place. "Mildred Carter. Espionage, among other talents."

He frowned and asked, "Do you have body armour or anything you need to change in to?"

"I'm pretty good at not being touched."

The van door slid open on its track and Steve stepped out. His uniform was darker than she remembered. He stepped aside and Bucky climbed in the van and pulled the door shut behind him. When he emerged Hermione couldn't help but look him over. He was thicker than he was back in the war. Arms, chest, even his thighs were heavy with muscle. When she happened to look back up at his face he was watching her again.

"All right, let's do this," Steve said.

Hermione Disillusioned herself and moved to stand beside him. He watched her for a moment and she caught a glimpse of Bucky looking in her direction as well. Something about her was giving away her position. She'd have to ask later. She walked in time with Steve out towards the helicopter and sped up when he started jogging. He didn't flat out run; she didn't think she would be able to keep up with him if he did.

As predicted, Iron Man—Stark—and one of his buddies stopped Steve from reaching the helicopter. Their robotic suits looked heavy even as the landed nimbly on the ground. Stark made a quip about running into people at the airport and Steve tried to explain what they were up against. Stark ignored him and continued his highspeed rambling, talking about how someone named Ross had given him thirty-six hours to find them.

Steve, again, tried to explain but was interrupted when two others joined Stark. The man in black that had given chase in Bucharest and the redheaded woman Hermione recognised from Avengers footage as the Black Widow. "You know what's about to happen," the Black Widow said. "Do you really want to punch your way out of this one?"

Before Steve really had a chance to answer, Stark mumbled something about patience and called, "Underoos!" A thin, petite man used something to snatch Steve's shield. Whatever it was, he used some to also bound Steve's hands.

"You've been busy," Steve said to Stark.

"And you've been a complete idiot. Dragging in Clint, rescuing Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave—a safe place!—I'm trying to keep—" he paused, seemingly overcome with emotion, "I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart."

"You did that when you signed," Steve said. Hermione thought of all the Magicals that the Accords could—would—effect. She agreed with him.

"You're going to turn Barnes over! You're going to come with us now because it's us!" Stark demanded. Hermione was focusing on the way the man in black was shifting on his feet and the way the Black Widow was shifting into a fighting stance behind Steve.

The comms device in her ear crackled to life and Hermione heard Wilson in duplicate from both hers and Steve's, "Found it. The Quinjet's in hanger five, north runway."

Steve raised his arms and an arrow broke through the material keeping his hands bound. "All right, Millie," he murmured.

Hermione summoned the SHIELD from the small man who had taken it. The active magic interrupted her Disillusionment Charm but it didn't seem that any of the others noticed. Stark's helmet had snapped back onto his face and Hermione heard his tinny voice through the Black Widow's earpiece behind her.

He must have used his suit to see through the garage because he was able to identify Wanda without visual contact. He flew up and in their direction. His partner, in the grey metal robotics suit, must have had a similar feature because he spotted Wilson and Bucky.

"Barnes is mine," the man in the black catsuit, said, running in their direction.

Hermione decided he was her target. She sent an Impediment Jinx his way. It fizzled out on his suit. It didn't escape his notice though. He turned his attention to her and changed course. She tried two more spells, a Trip Jinx and a Knockback Jinx and when neither of them did more than tink against his armour, she changed her plan of action.

He was almost on her now and as he jumped to launch himself at her, she liquefied the tarmac and pulled it up between them, spreading it thin and solidifying it just before he brought his fist down. She Apparated behind him as the thin sheet of tarmac burst into dust. She conjured water, then banished Transfigured ice spikes at him. They struck but didn't seem to do much more than annoy him.

At least he wasn't going after Bucky.

The sound of a fight elsewhere—punches being traded, missile explosions, cars being pulled out of the garage and dropped several stories—it all filtered into her ears and her bloodstream. Suddenly she felt warm and alive again like she'd been asleep or out in the cold. She didn't feel cocky as much as playful. This was dangerous but it was only a warm-up. Her faux-enemy came at her again and she conjured birds, great big hawks, to swarm and peck at him. He kicked one out of the air and it landed in a crushed heap to her right.

"Steve, we're tied down in here," Bucky's voice rang through her earpiece. He sounded slightly frustrated. "Wilson's suit is trashed."

"Well, it's been fun," she murmured at the man in black. She used her wand to liquefy the ground again and her other hand moved like she was dipping her fingers in water. The tarmac pulled up and around the cat-suited man, creating a cage to hold him with thick solid bars of tarmac that went above his head. It looked almost like black flower petals folded around him. He scratched at the bars but even his destructive claws didn't do much to the black, tarred barriers.

She started to turn to Apparate to get inside the terminal where she thought Bucky and Wilson still were but got caught by the weird web-like material the petite man had flung at Steve earlier. It stopped her spin and distracted her long enough for Black Widow to land a kick across her face.

It had been a long time since Hermione had been hit in the face and it disoriented her as if it were the first time. The goop only caught her in the legs and arms, though; her hands were still free. A quick twitch of her wand dissolved the bonds and she rolled to her hands and knees. Widow landed another kick to her stomach. It winded her and knocked her back over.

"I know what you are," the redhead said.

"And what is that?" she wheezed, trying to drag air into her temporarily frozen lungs.

She hissed two words in a language that Hermione recognised only as Russian before darting away. Hermione looked up to see that Clint was approaching to engage with her. Hermione finally sucked in a half breath of air.

Clint went toe-to-toe with the Black Widow. They tumbled and somersaulted around each other, trading blows. It looked more like friendly sparring than actual fighting. They ended up behind some trucks and Hermione could no longer see them. After another few moments she heard Clint through her earpiece, "Shit, my bow's in pieces."

She spotted the small man in red and blue mere moments before he used his goop to snatch her wand out of her hands. Losing it didn't actually disarm her or disable her in any way but it did spark a memory of Kruger taunting her over losing her first wand. She saw red.

* . * . *

Steve was still trading blows with Tony when he heard an angry English-accented voice over the comms and across the asphalt. "Give that back, I took down Nazis with that!"

Through the Iron Man suit, Steve heard Tony's reaction demanding of Spiderman, "Whatever that was, break it!"

The kid's voice came back in that rapid-fire ramble, "I don't know, Mr Stark, I mean, it seems harmless—ahhhh!" Tony abandoned the fight with Steve to fly off and investigate. Steve had to give him a little credit for that, even though the idea of bringing a kid to a fight like this grated on his conscience.

"Who are you?" Tony demanded, having lifted his faceplate. Steve knew he should head to the jet. That was the goal, of course, but he hesitated when he heard her answer him.

"My name is Hermione. I was born in 1979 and my government sent me back in time when I was five. I was a spy in World War Two," she said. Steve looked back in their direction just as she made a ball with her fist and flung it towards Tony. Chunks of tarmac and softball-sized hail seem to appear from thin air and fly at him. He shot missiles back at her and she made a motion of swatting a fly away. They turned and exploded away from her. Her movements didn't have a red light, like Wanda's talent, but there was no denying the power she wielded. She raised her right hand up, twisting it before closing her fist and pulling down. A windstorm seemed to come out of nowhere and tug at Tony's suit.

"Fuck, what was that?" Tony asked as he got twirled around in the windstorm before he used his repulsors to stabilize himself.

By way of answer, she said, "I drank an experimental super soldier serum in '44."

Steve interjected, "You drank it?"

He saw her shrug. "When you're trapped and dying of thirst, anything wet starts to look appealing."

"Steve, the Quinjet's open," Sam said in his ear. "You might have to do this one without some of us."

Steve finally turned and started jogging towards the hangar.

"Great, another one," Tony muttered. Steve didn't know how he heard Tony's voice until King T'Challa launched himself at him. He must have heard Tony through T'Challa's comms. He traded blows with the man, feeling his skin and muscle bruise and start healing with every punch. T'Challa must have been enhanced too. It was a shame, they could have used his help to stop the other Winter Soldiers.

Bucky joined him, swinging a punch with his metal arm at T'Challa's back. The punch was enough to wind him and Steve only felt a little bad when he put his weight behind the shield-swing and double-punch he landed on his head. He heard Wanda scream in pain for a few short moments and mentally figured she might be down but he didn't see her.

Tony's voice was angry when he next said to Millie, "Then you should register with the Accords too. Don't need another idiot weapon of mass destruction with an ego complex just wandering around without oversight!"

"Holy shit!" Clint said in the earpiece and Steve glanced back to see Tony's Iron Man suit break apart while he was midair. In the distance, Rhodey seemed to just fall out of the sky.

The Spider-kid asked. "Did she just evolve?" His voice sounded strange. Steve looked over to see he was trapped in what looked like a bubble of ice. The kid didn't look upset or hurt, so he pushed through the shivers that raced up his spine at just the thought of being trapped in ice again. He kept running toward the jet and Bucky joined him.

"I got captured," Millie said. "Do you know what Nazi Wizards do to POWs?"

Over his own heavy breathing, Steve could hear Bucky's breath hitch, like those words were familiar somehow. He glanced over but couldn't make out his expression. He didn't dwell on it for long, smashing his hand against the button to open the Quinjet bay door. As soon as he and Bucky were in, it was closing and Steve was starting the turbines. They were airborne in less than a minute.

"Millie..." Steve warned. He didn't know what he was warning her of—that Bucky might remember her this way? That she shouldn't lay out exactly what happened to her in the war in front of the kid? In front of strangers, like this? Maybe he didn't want to remember the way Peggy had cried in his arms about how someone had tortured her baby sister.

She didn't seem to heed his warning. "They get inside your head. Show you what fear looks like." Her voice was flat, like the way he remembered Bucky's being when he'd got off that table in Kreischberg, like the way hers had been in the few words he'd heard her speak to Peggy when she returned.

There was a sudden scream over the comms that caused both he and Bucky to flinch where they sat. It wasn't Millie's timbre.

"Natalia," Bucky said just as the comms cut out. The Quinjet had already taken them out of range. The name seemed to fall from his lips unbidden and the look on his face was full of confusion and something like pain.

* . * . *

Hermione's breath stopped when she heard Bucky's strained voice whisper the other woman's name. She wasn't sure if it was jealousy she was experiencing but she knew she didn't like it. A quick glance around showed her that Clint had snuck close to the Boggart and pulled the Black Widow away from it. There had been a little girl, her neck broken at an odd angle, staring at the redhead. Hermione couldn't see her face but she suspected the girl had worn a look of accusation.

Now the Boggart was just spinning endlessly, trying to find the fears of the next closest person.

The Quinjet, with Bucky and Steve its only occupants, was a small dot in the sky before someone ventured close. Beyond the hearing of the others, Hermione could just hear sirens heading their direction.

The Boggart seemed to finally decide which person to latch on to. It spun and extended itself to show a snowy ravine with a frozen river sluggishly moving through it. There were evergreens thick with snow on either side, blinding Hermione to anything beyond it. In the middle was a young man wearing a blue winter coat and brown trousers. The way Hermione had pictured Bucky's body to look when she'd first learned how he'd died. Now, though, she'd had more information and the Boggart took it greedily from her mind. His body was twisted at an angle so she could see both the mangled bit of what remained of his left arm and the terrified, pain-filled look on his young face. He was close to her, or she had instinctively moved closer to him. He was muttering something. Suddenly the scared look on his bare baby-face wasn't because of the lost arm. He was looking at her. "What... what are you? No, no! Get away from me!"

Hermione stood frozen. She knew she should do something about the Boggart but it had been ages since she'd had to deal with one and the way it played so well with her emotions left her stuck in place.

It was Wanda stepping a little closer to Hermione that snapped her out of her haze of fear. "What is that?" she asked in a whisper. The spell broke, just a little, and through the illusion Hermione could see the Black Widow finally standing up, still looking anxious and fearful, but watching the scene playing in front of Hermione.

"It's a Boggart," she answered. "It shows you your worst fear."

"How do you defeat it?" Wanda asked, her voice a little louder.

"Take the image it gives you, make it funny, and then say the incantation," Hermione said. She was still staring at the young, scared boy in the snow.

"How do you make _that_ funny?"

Hermione sighed deeply and conjured a wardrobe-sized black glass vial near the body of the boy. She wordlessly and wandlessly—the kid still had her wand—banished the Boggart into the vial. The scene disappeared in a swirl of colour, and she shrunk the vial and summoned it. She tucked it in her pocket and turned to look at Wand beside her. "When I figure it out, I'll let you know."

She looked around at the state of the airport. She should go about starting to repair the damage. Wanda was beside her, across from them was Clint and the Black Widow. Stark had somehow got the kid out of the bubble of ice. Coming out of the terminals was Wilson and the other man who'd been in the black armour before she'd removed it from him and stopped his fall from the ground.

The man in the catsuit was missing. She made to turn around again when she felt a blow on the back of her head.

* . * . *

Before they were too far out, they got a call on the Quinjet communications. It was Stark. "When I figure out what she did with my armour, I'm coming after you. You should know—"

Steve turned it off. He finished plotting the course in the Quinjet's autopilot features to the coordinates Bucky had given him for the bunker where the other Winter Soldiers were being kept. He wanted to ask more about that—to learn if that was the bunker he had been kept in—but he wasn't sure if he could. When he glanced back up at Bucky, it seemed he had a question of his own.

"Who was she?"

"Who, Natasha?" Steve asked. He had a feeling she wasn't who he was asking about.

Bucky shook his head and the look of confusion was still present on his face. "No, I remember Natalia. Who was the other one?"

"Millie Carter. Your best girl."


	26. Chapter 26

**24 June 2016**

Hermione did not immediately open her eyes upon regaining consciousness. She was horizontal. Whatever she was laying on had a slight rocking motion. There was a smell, like metal and bleach and lye, but she couldn't tell anything else from that. She opened her eyes to find herself in a prison cell, laying on a cot. The space was small; smaller than the last time she found herself in a cage like this. She set her feet on the floor and looked around. As she suspected, there were more cages, interestingly configured in a circular pattern.

She could see into the other cells. Wilson was in one, Clint another. From what she could see, Wanda was in a third, though she was bound and sitting on the floor. She looked drugged. None of the others that had been at the airport were there. They were the ones on the right side of the law.

Hmph.

As she sat there, she planned. Soon she stood up and started chattering in German, calling out for someone. "Hello? Hello! Can anyone hear me? What is going on? Where am I? Please, someone, tell me what's going on? I was in the parking garage restroom when they called for an evacuation. Someone please, what's going on?"

Finally, two men in combat fatigues came out of a door. They were mumbling to themselves in English. She glanced once at Wilson and then to Clint, both of whom seemed a little suspicious but then shared a glance with one another and looked away. She expected one of them would know the language.

The guards did not speak German, however. "What are you saying? Speak English."

"Please," she answered in German, "I don't understand. What has happened? Why am I in a cell? Why was I detained?"

They again implored her to speak English and then when she didn't, muttered to each other about what they should do. Apparently, she was being a nuisance. Good.

The door opened again and Stark entered. He looked surprised to see the guards but strolled forward with a purpose. He was heading to Wilson's cell. "I want to know where they went."

"Why should I tell you anything?" Wilson answered.

"Please, will you tell me what's going on?" Hermione again asked in German.

Stark turned around and looked at her and she made sure her eyes were wide and scared. She gripped the bars and pleaded. "I'm so confused, I don't know what's going on. Why am I in a cell, please, will you help me?"

One of the guards finally seemed to have come up with an idea and smacked his partner with a light tap of the back of his hand. "I got it, we beat her to see if she's enhanced. That'll prove she was part of whatever went down at Lapsing."

They did not speak as quietly as they thought because Stark stepped towards them. "Who's she?"

"Just one of those fugitives they picked up in Germany that didn't sign the Accords."

"She sounds confused and I was there, I didn't see her. Are you sure she was in the fight?" Stark took a few steps closer and dipped his head like he was trying to study her face through the bars. "Yeah, she wasn't with Rogers and these other guys. I think someone made a mistake somewhere."

The second guard, who hadn't really reacted to his friend's suggestion of beating her looked hesitant. "They picked her up at the airport. She was knocked out."

"Yeah, but what caused it?" Stark asked. "Could she have just got a knock on the head from something at one point? There was a lot of stuff going on, you might want to look into it."

The guards looked at one another and then seemed to agree that Stark's suggestion was probably the better solution. They turned and headed back towards the exit. Stark kept his eyes on her like he was trying to decide if she was worth the risk. He glanced back at Wilson and Clint then turned on his heel and followed the guards. He did not look at Wanda's cell where she was straight-jacketed.

There was silence for a long time and Hermione tried to get used to the swaying under her feet. They must be on a ship of some kind. She remembered the feeling from her flight from Norway in the war aboard a cargo vessel.

Then next time the doors opened it was the guards again, but this time, they came with keys and a brown paper bag. They unlocked the cell and handed her the bag. She opened it to find the clothes she had been wearing. It unnerved her that someone had undressed her while she had been unconscious. "Danke," she told them, making sure to put just a bit of frost into her tone. They led her out and pointed her to a restroom. She went inside, took the moment to relieve herself, and then changed. She emerged from the restroom, handed the guards the bag with the prisoner jumpsuit in it and then followed them up two decks.

She wasn't immediately taken somewhere to be released, instead, she was taken to an interrogation room. Her interrogator, however, didn't keep her waiting. And she spoke German.

The conversation was question and answer, tedious but quick. What's your name, where are you from, why were you at the airport? Hermione was particularly pleased that her Undetectable Extension Charm on her jacket was impervious to Muggle inspection, as such, it was easy enough to come up with a name and say her identification was in her car back at the airport. Finally, she was released after it was explained that Mr Tony Stark would be taking her home.

She was escorted to the top deck of the submarine—she'd heard Stark and someone else on the other side of the two-way glass mention it—and entrusted to Stark. He escorted her onto his helicopter and instructed his AI to pilot them home. The top of the ship opened up and they flew out into a raging storm over open water.

After they'd been in the air for a minute or so, Stark turned to her. "I helped you, now you help me. Where did Rogers go?"

"Why should I tell you?" she countered. "I could have withstood a beating to get out of there. Hell, if I didn't care about the lives on board I could have sunk the thing like a rock."

He swallowed like the thought was unnerving and she internally smiled. She didn't know if she could have sunk the ship but he didn't need to know that. He took a second longer to look at her before nodding and then telling his AI, Friday, to show her what she'd shown him.

"The authorities found this man, Dr Theo Broussard, in a hotel room bathroom along with facial prosthesis that gave the wearer the likeness of Barnes. I was wrong. Rogers is going to need all the help he can get." He shifted and pulled something out of a compartment in the helicopter. "And I believe this is yours," he said, handing over her wand.

She took it from him, inhaling deeply as the familiarity of it rushed through her upon touch. She tucked it into her Extended pocket. "Thank you. They're headed to Siberia. A bunker where Bucky was kept. There are five more Winter Soldiers that they expected this Zemo fellow to have awoken."

She gave him the general location that she knew and he nodded. He then made a decision for her. "All right, so Friday will take you home—wherever you want to go, actually, and I'm going to go help Rogers."

"I can help!"

"But can you survive this horrible weather and cold without an Iron Man suit? Probably not. I can't bring you along. Plus, I told Ross that I'd take you home. Friday will, so it's the same thing really." Then he pressed a button on the centre console and his seat tilted back and his robotic suit swallowed him up.

Hermione stared at the empty seat where he'd been sitting with a dumb look on her face before turning to the screen Friday had been projecting in front of her. "Friday, will you show me a topographical map of the location of the Siberian bunker we were talking about?"

"Of course."

After studying the coordinates and the map for a few minutes she said. "You can return to wherever Mr Stark normally parks you."

"I've been instructed to take you home, Miss Carter."

"Yes, but I'm not going to be here in a few moments."

"Yes, ma'am."

Hermione took a deep breath and Apparated.

* . * . *

Steve left the Quinjet in idle mode. It was well below freezing and he didn't know if the metal would freeze and shatter if he killed the engine. Beside him, Bucky looked just as reluctant to venture out into the cold as Steve. From the window of the jet, they could just make out the low curved roof of a bunker. It vaguely reminded him of a hobbit hole.

Before he opened the bay door, he saw something shift in the snowstorm. Something large and white was sitting near the entrance. "Bucky, is that a polar bear?"

Bucky joined him at the window and peered out. "Did it just wave at us?"

Steve felt a small amount of consternation at that. "Maybe it's the snow. Maybe it's not a bear at all. We need to go." They ventured out with no winter gear except for their combat suits. Bucky had grabbed a gun from Natasha's weapons cache and Steve had his shield. They moved closer to the bunker, cautious of the creature sitting in front of it.

It definitely looked like a bear but it didn't seem hostile. Steve wasn't sure if that worried him more or less. Finally, when they were right up on it, it stood up from where it had been sitting and shimmered. What appeared in its place was Millie Carter. She was dressed in the same non-winter gear she'd been in before. Suddenly there was a cloud of warmth so strong it melted the snow in a circle all around where she stood.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asked.

"Thought you could use the help."

"How did you... What are you? Really?" Steve asked, stepping closer. The warmth around her was already fading in the storm but it was better than the memory of bitterly cold biting at his fingertips and nose. She pulled a thin wand out of her pocket and cast that blast of heat again, this time in an even greater diameter circle, this time encompassing Bucky as well where he stood two steps behind Steve.

"I'm a super soldier. And I'm a witch."

"Like Wanda?"

"Not exactly. Come on, I'm sure it has to be warmer inside than it is out here."

* . * . *

The bunker was large for being underground. They let Bucky lead, as he seemed to remember where to go, though he rarely spoke a word. Finally, when they had cleared the third level, the lift behind them opened and Iron Man stepped out. The helmet pulled away and he was left staring blankly at Hermione. "How did you...? You know what, nevermind." He glanced at Steve and then Bucky, who had his gun aimed at him. "I'm here in peace and solidarity, chill. Didn't she tell you I was coming?"

Steve gave Hermione a look that said he wanted an explanation later and then raised his hand to tell Bucky to lower his weapon. "Do you know what we're up against?"

"Five more Winter Soldiers, more deadly than this guy," Stark said gesturing in Bucky's direction. "Yeah. They found the actual doctor's body, as well as a mask that Zemo used to frame Barnes."

"Come on," Bucky said, his voice tainted with impatience, "They're probably awake by now."

Stark frowned but nodded and his helmet came back over his face. "Right," he agreed. It sounded only slightly tinny. "You should probably bring up the end of the line, Carter."

"I can create a shield that's twice the size of my arm span and height that's practically impervious. I should probably be leading," she answered. She did not take the lead, however. She again, fell in behind Bucky and Steve, only because Bucky kept giving her an unreadable look. He kept his distance and she let him. He probably felt more comfortable with Steve at his back. She wasn't combat tested in quite the same way. She kept an invisible shield in front of him anyway.

They finally descended to the lowest level. The room was large. There was a chair in the centre of the room surrounded by a rusted red railing that Bucky gave a wide berth. She didn't want to think about why that was. At the end of the room were five large cylindrical tubes. Each with a human sitting upright and swirling mist floating around them.

"If it's any consolation, they died in their sleep," a voice said over an intercom. "Did you really think I wanted more of you?" it asked. That's when Hermione noticed the bullet holes in each of the chambers. A single gunshot wound to the head for each of the soldiers. The cold chemical mist escaping the chambers smelled like cardice and ammonia.

Bucky muttered, "What the hell," and readjusted his grip on his rifle.

A light came on, illuminating the face of Helmut Zemo. He was peering out of a small, thick glass window at them. Stark activated his repulsor but didn't fire. Steve threw his shield but it ricocheted back to him.

"Please Captain," the man said with a patronizing tone. "The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 rockets."

"I'm betting I could beat that."

"Oh, I'm sure you could Mr Stark, given time. But then... you wouldn't know why you came."

"You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here. Why?" Steve asked.

"I've thought about nothing else for over a year. I studied you. I followed you."

"You're Sokovian. Is that what this is about?"

"Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell." Zemo shook his head and the light behind him flickered. "No. I'm here because I made a promise."

Steve was quiet as he met the other man's gaze. They all were. Hermione glanced at the other two men in the room. Stark was focused on the conversation between Zemo and Steve. Bucky was looking down at the chair, his eyes unfocused. "You lost someone," Steve said.

"I lost _everyone._ And so will you." His words did not fill Hermione with dread. She had lost enough. Now that Steve and Bucky were in her life again, there was nothing Zemo could do to separate her from them. The only reason she would leave is if either Bucky or Steve told her to go. Zemo continued, "An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one that crumbles from within? That's dead. Forever." He did something that activated a television and VCR sitting incongruously in front of the blast wall.

A date written in Cyrillic appeared on the screen, grainy and lined like the tape was old. The numbers were Arabic though. 16-something-1991. The date was meaningless to Hermione but by Stark's reaction, it was extremely important to him. The title screen changed to a video monitoring a small section of road, surrounded by trees. The text on the screen now was in English. PM 7:00, Dec 16 1991. Cam 3. "I know that road," Stark said. He looked up at Zemo, and there was a note of alarm in his voice when he asked, "What is this?"

Zemo did not answer.

Hermione only peripherally watched the screen. As soon as something began to happen on the recording, Bucky dropped his head and lowered his weapon. Steve glanced over at the movement but then returned his attention to Stark.

A car crashed. A motorcycle revved. A woman shouted a name.

Stark looked up at Bucky and Bucky shifted, looking up to meet his gaze. The loathing that passed over Stark's face felt familiar in a way. Hermione had hated people that intensely. For a time or two, it had even been herself.

The woman shouted the name again and Stark returned his attention to the television. He was starting to tremble. Hermione saw the last few seconds of the frame. Bucky, dead-eyed like he didn't care what he'd just done, aiming a gun at the camera. There was a brief pause before Stark turned to attack Bucky but Steve grabbed him. His fingertips made a clunk sound against the smooth armour.

"Tony, no."

Stark looked like he was trying to find steady ground, like his world had been tipped on its axis by the footage he'd just seen. "Did you know?" he whispered at Steve. He could have shouted it for all the privacy it gave him in a room of super soldiers.

Steve took a second too long to answer and everyone present knew his answer was an attempt at obfuscation. "I didn't know it was him."

"Don't bullshit me, Rogers. Did you know?"

Steve seemed to realize he couldn't lie his way out of it, especially with the way Stark was right in his face. "Yes."

There was a heartbeat's pause before Stark swung his fist up and struck Steve across the face so hard it knocked him flying. Bucky re-aimed his rifle at Stark.

Hermione flung a visible shield up between both of them. "Stark, don't do this," she said, hoping the calm in her voice would ease the tension in the room.

"It wasn't him," Steve pleaded. His voice sounded doused in desperation. "HYDRA had control of his mind!"

"If you do this," Hermione tried again, even as Stark seemed to be calculating the angle of her shield, "if you kill for revenge, Iron Man stops being a hero and starts being a villain. Is that what you want?"

"I don't care. He killed my mom."

"You don't want this," she tried one last time.

"Get out of my way." He flung his arm up and aimed one of his repulsors at the shield at just the right angle that it skidded across the shield and struck her, flinging her backwards. He shot a second one as soon as her shield was down that knocked Bucky's rifle from his hands. Bucky dropped the gun and punched with his left hand but Stark just countered by grabbing him around the throat and lifting off the ground, carrying Bucky with him. They landed on the other side of the room and by the time Hermione had stood, Stark was standing on Bucky's metal arm. Steve flung his shield at Stark and hit him in the back of the head, knocking his point-blank aim off.

Hermione cast _Avis_ and _Oppugno_ , sending great big hawks to swarm over Stark but they didn't do much good against his armour. It was enough of a distraction to let Steve grab his shield again and for Bucky to get up off the floor.

Then Stark shot a missile at the birds. It missed them but stuck one part of the structural wall behind Hermione. She dismissed the birds and ran, holding a Shield Charm over her head as she did.

Stark hadn't stopped. He shot off two more repulsors at Steve and then flew after Bucky again, catching him by the collar and hoisting him up against one of the remaining walls. Hermione used the concrete rubble around them, gathered it up and let her magic shape it into a club. She swung it at Stark but wasn't able to stop Bucky from falling. He landed heavily on the destroyed floor below him.

"Bucky, get out of here!" Steve shouted as he engaged Stark. They swapped a few punches. Stark had the advantage of hovering over the ground; Steve couldn't find a stable spot to brace his feet amongst the rubble.

In the crazy fight with Stark, Hermione had not thought to look for Zemo but when she looked back to the room he'd been in it was dark and he was gone. She heard heavy machinery engage and felt a surge of cold air swirl around her. The missile silo was opening.

She looked back to see that Stark had manacled Steve's ankles. He knocked the ankle cuffs off with his shield and stood. Stark was flying in the direction Bucky had gone. She'd never intentionally fried electronics before, though she'd done it on accident on several occasions. She pointed her wand at Stark's feet and released as much magical energy as she dared. She watched as the repulsors started to spark and short out. Steve shouted and grabbed his ear, yanking the fried comms device from him. He gave her an angry look over his shoulder and chased after Stark.

She would scold herself for hurting Steve later. She followed after them. Bucky had climbed almost to the top of the silo and Stark was having a difficult time staying airborne enough to follow. Steve was jumping from platform to platform to try and catch up with them but Stark was still much closer to Bucky than he was.

Hermione picked a platform above her and Apparated. Before she could even cast anything, she was hit in the stomach with a repulsor blast and knocked backwards. She fell, missing at least two platforms and catching the back of her head on a third before landing on her back. Her vision went black and the breath punched out of her lungs. It took several long seconds before she could open her eyes again and when she did her vision was intensely blurry. She could only make out the general shape of Stark and Steve because of the colours of their suits. Bucky had been wearing black and either she couldn't see him against the dark walls of the silo or she couldn't see far enough at all to locate him.

But she was a super soldier and she wasn't just going to lay there. She stood, unsteady on her feet and squinted up. She could just make out with her blurry, tunnel-like vision the fireball above them as Stark shot another missile. She finally saw something black and shadowy moving—falling, rather—towards her. She tried to focus on one of the platforms above her. She Apparated again.

She did not land. Or at least, she didn't land with both feet on a platform. She cast a Cushioning Charm and a Slowing Charm but it didn't stop her foot from twisting under her as she fell. She might have shouted. There was another fiery blast and she felt something collide with her. They both fell the rest of the way down the silo.

Hermione might have passed out. She wasn't sure, but the sound of hands punching metal roused her. She was cold; she could see what must be snow beyond the coloured people-shaped masses in front of her. As Stark and Steve traded a few more blows, her vision started to clear a little. She saw when Bucky jumped from a platform above her with Steve's shield raised and aimed at Stark's back.

She groped around for her wand and didn't find it. She looked away from the fight and spotted it on the ground several yards away. She tried to stand to get to it but the blinding pain made her world whiteout again for a moment. She sat back down and looked up at the three of them still pummeling each other and tried to think of some spell she could cast that would make them stop.

Before she could, Steve had fallen and Bucky had flung Stark back towards the wall opposite her. Stark had some laser that seemed to cut through the rubble and Bucky blocked it from cutting through Steve and her. He punched Stark once more and then shoved his metal hand into the chest of Stark's Iron Man suit, aiming for the power source.

That was also a weapon, apparently, because Stark shot a blast out of it with such intensity that the entire room was bathed in a brilliant golden glow. When it cleared Bucky was on his knees and hands. Knees and _hand._ His left arm was gone, blown clear away at the bicep. He wobbled and glanced down at the missing limb where the wires and metal still glowed red from the beam that had blasted it away. Then Stark shot him in the back with another repulsor beam. It struck his armour but flung him arse over teakettle towards Hermione.

Steve stood again, engaging Stark, but Bucky didn't get back up. Hermione didn't care about the pain in her ankle nor the way her foot was starting to go numb. She crawled towards him and raised a shield around them. "You're going to be okay, Bucky," she said.

His eyelids were fluttering open and closed and he seemed like he might be slipping in and out of consciousness. She scooted a bit closer and reached for his hand. He flinched away from her violently.

She recoiled back from him and pulled herself away from him. She switched shield charms, from the easier to cast visible one to the more difficult invisible one. She kept it solely around him, making it easier to maintain. She wouldn't give him any more reason to fear her.

Leaning back against the wall a few feet from him, she looked back at the others. Steve had just dug the edge of his shield into the chest piece of the Iron Man suit. Both he and Stark had their helmets off and their faces were bruised and bloody.

In the aftermath of the fight, the only sounds were of them all panting for breath and the howling wind of the snowstorm just beyond their shelter. Hermione felt cold air swirl around her stomach. She glanced down to see that her coat had torn in several places and was gone in a few more. There was blood and burned skin but nothing too life-threatening. She leaned her head back against the concrete wall behind her. She resolutely did not look at Bucky.

Maybe she should have heeded Zemo's words more carefully because even if Steve didn't lose everything, she thought maybe she just had.

* . * . *

Steve looked over Bucky and Millie. Both looked worse for wear. Bucky's arm was gone and he looked about ready to give up completely. Several feet away against the wall, Millie had propped herself up. Her head was tipped back against the wall and though her eyes were closed, it looked like she had tear streaks down her cheeks. He wondered what that was about.

For the moment, Tony was incapacitated. The suit was dead and he would need to get out of it before he could try and attack Bucky again. Not that Steve thought he would. He'd seen the look of utter fear on his face when he'd yanked off the Iron Man helmet, how he thought Steve was aiming to kill him. And yes, Steve was angry, but it wasn't directed solely at Tony and he hoped he'd never let his emotions overwhelm him enough to kill a friend over it. But to be safe about it all, Steve helped Bucky up first, grabbing his right arm and pulling it over his shoulder to help him walk. He'd take him to the Quinjet. Beyond that, he didn't know where else to go. Maybe Millie would have an idea.

"That shield doesn't belong to you," Tony said. "You don't deserve it... my father made that shield!"

Steve just wanted it all to be over. The disagreement about the Accords. The fighting. He still felt like he had a duty. To Erskine, to the people of the world. But maybe he didn't have a duty to be Captain America. He dropped the shield; it thudded to the ground with a short abortive ring. Bucky's fingers tightened on his shoulder for a brief moment before they staggered away.

The walk back to the jet felt like it took a lot longer. They had to navigate the half-destroyed bunker and climb several flights of stairs as one of the explosions had knocked out the power to the elevator. Making their way through the building was still a better, safer option than trying to head out into the blinding snowstorm from the silo side of the base. When they were back in the jet, Steve helped Bucky sit down on one of the cots in the back. He probably could have sat in one of the command seats up front but he looked exhausted and Steve worried he might pass out again. "I should buckle you in," he murmured.

Bucky choked out a quiet, "No," but conceded to laying back on the cot.

"I'll be right back." Steve headed back through the maze of the bunker. Quicker now that wasn't carrying most of Bucky's weight. He was weary on his feet and his head was swimming but he was the most mobile of the three and he didn't trust Tony to make sure Millie made it out safely.

Before he reached the place where he'd left Millie and Tony, he caught the sound of a heartbeat following him. He turned and saw T'Challa, the black panther, standing there in his suit. Steve's fear for Bucky's life overwhelmed him again and he clenched his hands into fists and brought them up, ready to fight if he had to.

"I'm not here to harm you, Captain," T'Challa said. He reached up and removed his helmet. "I heard Zemo. Detained him. I wanted you to know that I'm sorry for going after your friend. I offer you... sanctuary in Wakanda, though I will have to arrange it first before allowing you into our country."

At first, Steve didn't know what to say. The past few days had been long and overwhelming—like any world-threatening mission—but the other man was right. There wouldn't be an opportunity to go home after this. When he'd not signed the Accords he'd officially retired. When he'd gone after Bucky, so he could have a fair trial rather than be killed on-sight, he'd been branded a fugitive. Home didn't exist anymore. Home hadn't existed for him before but he'd made one. He'd just have to make one again. And if that were in Wakanda, then that's where it would be. "I appreciate that, King T'Challa."

"Please, no honorifics. Just call me T'Challa."

"Then call me Steve. I'll take you up on that offer of sanctuary. I don't know what's going to happen now but I think we're going to need it."

"I think so too. I've also offered Mr Stark a ride home. I don't think anyone should be left in this icy emptiness alone."

"Thank you. He's my friend. I wouldn't want to see him left here either."

T'Challa gave him a nod and slipped back into the shadows. Steve turned and headed to where he'd left Millie. When he got back there, Tony and the shield were gone. The Iron Man armour was in broken pieces in a trail leading to the door.

Millie was still where he'd left her. She'd slumped over a little. He could see now, where her ankle was broken badly. Twisted almost completely the wrong direction. He hoped they could get to somewhere to treat that before it started healing incorrectly. If her version of the serum was anything like his, it might start to heal and they'd have to re-break it before setting it.

She slipped a little further to the right. Her coat pocket gaped open and something small and glass fell out of it. It broke when it hit the cold, hard ground and something floated up and around her.

Four men—or what looked like men, there were no heartbeats—surrounded her. They wore strange, scarlet clothes that looked like a mix between armour and a dress, except they also had trousers. "It took a long time to track you down, Carter. Or should we say Granger?" one of them said.

She opened her eyes a crack and Steve heard her breath hitch. "No," she murmured. She started to shake her head back and forth but winced. "No, you can't have them."

"You left a wake of exposure behind you a mile wide," the second man said, "Did you really expect you'd be able to keep your memories?"

The heartbeat Steve could hear picked up speed. Despite being in what had to be an immense amount of pain, Millie shifted like she was trying to stand. He saw her gaze shift from the men to her wand. It didn't look like she'd noticed he was there, however. He went and picked up her wand as the third figure spoke.

"What are we going to do with you?" It sounded like a taunt.

The first answered, "Probably imprison her."

"It's for the greater good," the fourth said.

She turned and opened her eyes a bit more to look up at the figure. "The greater good," she repeated. "You're Grindelwald supporters?" Her heartbeat thudded rapidly in her chest and her breath had sped up.

Steve didn't know what this was but he wasn't afraid and she was, so he walked directly through the middle of them—the figures disappeared in a puff of swirling smoke. Glass crunched under his boots. There was something spinning and taking shape beside him but he focused his attention on Millie. He picked her up, careful of her broken ankle, and ignored the image that was starting to form in the corner of his eye. He carried her away from whatever it was, back to the Quinjet. Back to Bucky.

She passed out halfway to the jet and when he opened the bay door to board, he found that Bucky had slipped into unconsciousness too. He laid Millie down next to Bucky and strapped them both in. He knew Bucky didn't want to be, but he also knew that he didn't want him to roll off and hurt himself while his body healed what it could.

Steve sat in the pilot's seat and got the Quinjet in the air. He activated the stealth capabilities and set the course to the general vicinity of Europe. He didn't know where to go or who might help them while they waited for T'Challa to grant them permission to go to Wakanda.

* . * . *

When Hermione woke up again, it was due to pain. Bucky and Steve were at her feet and Steve had his hands on her ankle. She could feel the way the bones grated and shifted under his hands. She heard Bucky's low, gruff voice. "Once you get it in the right place, we'll need to bind it to keep her from moving it too much."

Steve gave it another slight twist and she couldn't help the low moan she gave. "Sorry," he said. "Hoped you would stay asleep a little longer."

She half vocalized another sound but she twisted it into a question. "Had it already started healing wrong?"

"Yeah," Bucky answered.

She reached up and patted the pockets of her jacket. She slipped her hand in the single one that was left and made a soft noise of disappointment.

"You okay?" Steve asked as Bucky started to wrap something around her ankle.

"Yeah, just all of my supplies are gone." She swallowed, trying to bury her disappointment and the nerves she felt. "My wand."

"I picked that up. Can you mend broken bones with it?"

She shook her head. "I had a potion that could heal bones." Her eyes darted up to Bucky's missing arm, the mangled wires dangling from the middle of his metal bicep. She looked away. "Could regrow bones. Lost all of my stuff when the structural integrity of my jacket failed." She huffed a little soundless noise of amusement at her dumb joke. She grimaced when her ankle gave another sharp twinge. To distract herself from the pain, she asked, "Where are we?"

"Right now? On a slow orbit of the earth, heading west. Stealth is on, so we can't be tracked. I wasn't sure where to go," Steve said. He finished with the bandage and tucked it under itself to keep it in place. "I thought maybe you'd know of somewhere to lie low."

She thought about her old house in Hogsmeade first for some strange reason. Probably because Hogwarts and Hogsmeade didn't exist at all to Muggles. Instead, she sat up slowly, feeling the burned skin on her abdomen sting. She offered him a tiny shrug. "My house is the only place I can think of. I didn't get out much."

"Where's that?"

"Massachusetts, south of Salem."

Bucky snorted quietly but didn't comment. He headed to one of the seats at the nose of the plane. Hermione watched him walk away. She hoped the rawness of her emotions weren't displayed on her face. Steve stood up from the bucket he'd flipped over and used as a seat. "Really? You've been that close this whole time?"

She looked back at him and told the truth. It felt strange to be able to speak the truth with him. She thought she liked it. "I spent the middle of the century in Scotland. Needed to get away in the eighties."

He met her gaze and thought for a moment before asking, "One of those times you staged your own death?"

She offered him a little smile. "It was time."

He spent another moment just looking at her before he looked back over at Bucky. He spoke a little louder like he was trying to draw Bucky back into the conversation even though she suspected they would all hear each other just as clearly if they'd been speaking in breathless whispers. "I was thinking about busting the others out of prison. Tony forced a message through the system. Gave me coordinates where to find them. Seems it's in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean."

It's a submarine, from what I could tell while I was there."

Steve nodded. "Shouldn't be too hard to get them out." He looked back at her and glanced down to her ankle. "I'd ask if you wanted to join but I don't think you should do much on that ankle until it heals. Fully."

"If you take me home I have potions to help us heal. I mean, I can do a few things with my wand—broken noses and fingers—but I've got Burn Paste and Dittany for the open wounds. Skele-Gro for broken bones."

Steve's eyebrows raised like he had just remembered something and pulled her wand out of his pocket and handed it to her. She thanked him. After a moment of thought, she conjured a simple wrist holder and strapped her wand to her arm since the pocket she usually kept it in was gone. He watched with curiosity but didn't ask anything. "At the speed the jet's set at right now, by the time we get to Massachusetts, I'll probably have already healed most of my major hurts." He glanced back towards Bucky and his eyebrows shifted to show his concern. "How about you, Bucky? You heal about as fast as I do, don't you? Or do you think you'll need—"

"I'll be fine." Bucky didn't look at her. Hermione dropped her eyes to her lap.

The silence was awkward and she shifted on the cot where she was sitting.

Steve sat back down on his bucket and directed his attention back to her. "You promised me a story. I know it's a plane, but it's definitely more private than the last one. Mind explaining why—and when— you _drank_ the serum? Where'd you even get it?"

At first, she didn't want to speak about it. Becoming a super soldier was twisted up with her time as a POW, but if she couldn't speak to them about it—people who'd been there, who'd seen her, people who might actually survive if she lost control of herself—who else could she talk to? She never thought she would ever have that; she might as well take advantage of it while it was there. She nodded and licked her lips. "Early July '44. On the outskirts of Caen..."


	27. Chapter 27

**6 July 2016**

Hermione sat at the island counter in her kitchen. She had a cup of tea in front of her, and Snuffles her kneazle was sitting on the stool beside her. Snuffles had been rather angry with her since she got back and it was only now, a week since Steve and Bucky had dropped her off, that the cat was having anything to do with her. She scritched at her ears for another minute or so before opening the notepad in front of her. It was old and the pages were worn and yellow. Inside was the information she'd collected and memorized about the No Muggle-born Policy and the Travel Rooms. She pulled another notebook close and wrote down everything she knew about Grindelwald, Pohl, and Albus Dumbledore.

Hermione wrote down everything she could remember hearing about 'the Greater Good' and then she went back to her personal library and pulled out the modern history books. Finally, her solution snapped into place.

She could just go and ask Grindelwald. Surely if he were dead, the history books would tell her. She knew where he was and he was imprisoned, he couldn't do anything to her. So she pulled out her physical maps, brought up Google Maps, and plotted her course.

Austrian Alps. Of course, it was. There was something else about the location, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. It caused that little niggling sensation at the back of her head but wouldn't be pulled forward into the light. She supposed it would come to her in time.

She gathered her normal travelling supplies—Dittany, two extra canteens of water, three days worth of foodstuffs, and a thick cloak—and Apparated to Salem. There she purchased a round trip Portkey that would take her to Vienna and whisk her back home in three days. She would be able to Apparate to the Nurmengard from there.

The weather in Vienna was mild and she avoided the International Centre, sure the area would still be devastated from the bombing two weeks ago. She didn't even bother to find a place to stay in the city, just checked her notes and her maps and Apparated to the city closest to Nurmengard Castle. She could just make out the shape of it against the rock from the small village at the base of the mountains. It was a day's walk from her Apparition point. She wasn't sure how far out the magical fortifications were so she decided approaching it by foot would be the safest idea. From the way it was perched at such a high point, close to the edge of a sheer cliff, attempting to Apparate to only bounce off Anti-Apparition Jinxes would throw anyone off the cliff. She had no interest in falling down the side of a mountain and seeing if she survived, so walking was her best option.

The fortress was crafted of dark stone that rose up from the top of the rocky cliff like a spire. A proper wizard's tower. The closer she got, the more that niggling sensation irritated her thoughts. As she rounded the last bend in the pass, she saw the entire edifice before her. There was a large section near the bottom right corner that had been damaged and rebuilt with different, lighter-coloured stone. Around the base of the structure were small gardens where several women were working the cold, rocky soil. They wore furs and cloaks and they only glanced at her once before returning to their work.

There were more people in the bottom levels of the prison. They must have seen her approaching but did not call out a warning. Finally, when she was close enough she hailed them. She spoke in English, despite their location. "Is this Numengard?" she asked. She knew the answer, as it had to be Grindelwald's fortress by location and description, but she wanted to be sure.

One burly man, dressed in thick, dark furs came close to greet her. He smelled like he hadn't treated the furs before he wrapped them around his body. He answered her in German, so she continued their conversation in the language as well. "Does Grindelwald still live?"

"Yes," he answered. "What do you know of him? What do you want?"

"I'd like to ask him a few questions."

"He won't answer them, journalist." He said the word like a slur. She wondered how many journalists came to ask questions of the great Grindelwald.

"I'd still like to ask."

He looked back at his fellows. Another man, less burly than the first, stood up. "You may not take your wand with you. He is an old man but that doesn't mean he wouldn't try."

She nodded and pulled her wand out of her pocket, handing it over freely. She didn't expect to need to channel so much power that she'd need her wand. She didn't actually expect to need her magic at all.

The burly man escorted her up the tall spiralling stairs, past the living quarters they used, past other, dusty doorways that didn't look like they'd been touched in sixty years. The stone steps were not dusty. They must bring his food up the Muggle way.

At the top of the stairs, the man walked with her to a small cell. She could see a narrow window, where the setting sun was just visible. The cell itself was small and there was a low hard bed along one wall. The man sitting in the cell was frail. Malnutrition and no room for activity had taken their toll on him. He looked skeletal and his eyes were sunk deep in his skull. He was mostly bald and what little beard he had was scraggly and grey.

"Who have you brought with you, Steiner?" he said. He did not look in their direction.

"A journalist. Wants to ask some questions," Steiner said.

She took a step closer to the bars. She raised her hand to touch one but could feel the magic infused in them and lowered her hand. "I'm not a journalist. Just someone who needs to understand."

Grindelwald turned his head in her direction. His eyes were clouded over and there were scars around them. She wondered what might have happened but let the curiosity pass. "Then ask. You wouldn't be the first to not get what you came for."

"What is the Greater Good?"

He sneered and spat at the ground in her direction. "Don't mock me."

"What is the No Muggle-born Policy?"

His brow furrowed and he tilted his head, suddenly intrigued with the conversation. "I'm not sure I've heard of that. All I know is that by the time I'd reached a position of power, the wizards born from the magicless had stopped showing up."

"So you didn't implement the policy," she confirmed.

He scoffed at her. "Why would I do any such thing? It would be counter to my plans. Had they continued to exist, it would have been so much easier to expose our world."

"Because you wanted to rule it."

"The magicless can't rule over themselves. Just look at all the wars they've waged on each other. It would have been glorious. My reign would have been prosperous."

Hermione couldn't help the mien of disgust that crossed her face. From what she'd read about HYDRA, they had had similar goals. She asked, "Don't you mean, our reign?"

He startled and the slightly dreamy expression on his face hardened. "No. I would have made a great ruler. Dumbledore was too soft."

"And Pohl?"

He tilted his head back and gave a bitter laugh that held no amusement in it. He opened his mouth like he was going to speak again but hesitated. He whispered, "We would have been great, the three of us."

"What do you know of time travel?"

"Folly. Impossible in the long-term. Impractical in the short."

If he were being truthful, then by his own words he had nothing to do with the No Muggle-born Policy or the Time Rooms. She didn't think Pohl, Muggle-born himself, had anything to do with it. If Muggle-borns would have helped Grindelwald's cause, and Dumbledore knew the cause, helped design it himself before he reneged on it, then who else could have done it? He had the power and influence and genius to create such a policy and implement it. Now all she wanted to know was why. She suspected whatever answer the old man gave her wouldn't satisfy. She had just been a pawn, lost to the system. If it had worked properly she wouldn't have even known any different. It made her sick to her stomach.

She turned, ready to get away from it all, when Grindelwald asked her a question. "What's your name?"

"Millie Carter."

"We made a blood pact, you know, the three of us, the Triumvirate. To never harm one another. What I wouldn't give... Will you do me a favour, Miss Carter?"

"Perhaps," she said, turning back around to watch his aged face.

"Kill them both for me?"

She debated confessing her involvement but decided it wasn't worth it. She had no interest in making this man happy. "Pohl's been dead for close to forty years."

He smiled, nasty and cruel.

She moved past the guard, Steiner, and headed down the spiralling steps. He let her go, following behind her at a steady pace. When she reached the lower level, the leaner man asked. "Did you get anything out of him? You were up there longer than most."

"No, he refused to answer," she lied. Steiner, just coming into the room behind her did not contest it. The lean man handed her wand back to her. She took it, relished in the comfort holding it gave her, and then tucked it away. She did not need a guide to make her way out of the doors and down the steps. Twilight had fallen and the sky was awash with hazy golden clouds. The scene struck her as familiar. She turned around, her gaze tracking back to the newer part of the structure. There was moss growing up the side like it wasn't as new as she had originally suspected. Finally, the thought that had been irritating her finally surfaced.

She'd been here before.

As she walked down the path away from the spire she could only wish that she'd brought the whole thing tumbling down to ruin when she'd escaped the first time. She thought about setting the entire thing alight now, stone and gardens and guards and prisoner alike. She decided it wasn't worth it. The men and women who tended the monument and fed the old would-be emperor had done nothing wrong.

* . * . *

**7 July 2016**

After spending the night in the village under the ever presence spire on the mountain, Hermione returned to Vienna and the magical sector there to purchase a second Portkey. One-way. To London. She would Apparate to Hogsmeade from there.

School wasn't in session. The students should have just recently returned home from the Hogwarts Express, so Hermione didn't worry too much about dropping by the castle. She didn't even wait for evening to fall completely.

She spent the morning doing a bit of shopping on the Muggle side of London and ate a late lunch there. Afterwards, she shopped on the Alley. When the shops started closing, she Apparated to Hogsmeade. The small village was quiet, as always. There was noise and light coming from several of the buildings around. People taking their evening meals and settling down for the night.

This entire leg of her trip brought up so many memories and the strongest sense of nostalgia she could imagine. When she saw the garden out front of her old cottage, well-tended and cared for, she could almost taste the overwhelming sense of longing.

She loved her home south of Salem. Enjoyed the quiet, peaceful life of a librarian and as the only magical person around. But she did miss the easy camaraderie that came from spending decades of time in one place. She didn't even miss Salem and the Witches' Institute as much as she longed for her old cottage in Hogsmeade. After another long look at the flowerbeds from a distance—there looked to be Venomous Tentacula mixed with the Flutterby bushes—Hermione turned and walked up Centre Street.

She stopped just a few feet from the door of the old Hogshead. Her gut twisted in place at the new sign hanging above the door and the shiny, clean look to the windows. Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, Hogsmeade location, read the sign. She took two steps back to see Zonko's down the way was still in business. It seemed Zonko's had some competition. There was light coming from the upper floor window. The proprietor must live upstairs like Aberforth had. She turned and walked on, glancing back once to see that the goat pens were gone as well. At least the smell of manure had gone with it.

Still, it made her heart ache to know that Aberforth's pub had been bought.

She made the walk up to the castle, enjoying the way the stars were just starting to twinkle in the twilight-laden sky. The clouds were sparse tonight; it made for a pleasant stroll. At the gates, Hermione cast a Disillusionment Charm and headed up the path.

She walked right in the large front doors and peeked in the Great Hall. She knew there were a few teachers who stayed in the school year round but there weren't any dining in the Great Hall just then. She headed up the Marble Staircase, skipping the trick step without thought. At the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's tower, she paused. After a moment's thought, she said, "For the Greater Good," in a low whisper. The Gargoyle nodded, and she headed up the spiralling stair.

The headmaster's office was cluttered with all manner of spinning, clicking gadgets and illuminated by brilliant candlelight that glinted off the glass-fronted cabinets and their polished silver door pulls. Albus Dumbledore was at his desk and he was looking directly at her when she stepped through the open door. Before she could cancel her Disillusionment Charm, he said, "It's good to see you again, Millie."

She led the spell fade and stepped closer, taking a seat uninvited. He looked old—older than she remembered, at least. His beard had turned scraggly and white, though it was still long and tucked into his belt. The hair on his head had gone white too—what was left of it. His wizard's cap didn't completely cover his liver-spotted scalp. His cap and clothes were a deep purple with golden stars that sparkled like there might have been golden thread weaved through them. He looked just as ridiculous as she remembered.

His blue eyes, which had once been sharp behind his half-moon spectacles, were clouded with cataracts. She felt a tentative push at her mind as he tried to read into her reason for coming. When he did not get what he wanted from her that way, he started speaking.

"I remember reading your obituary and finding it rather dull for someone so young. Someone with so much potential. I see you've done well for yourself. It's as if age hasn't touched you. I'd suspect you'd developed a philosopher's stone... but you never struck me as interested in alchemy."

She just sat there. Quiet. Waiting.

He went on, "I heard about something recently, an exposure of magic in Germany. By the time the International Aurors arrived, German Muggles had already blocked off the area. There was another bout of magic in front of Muggles in Siberia, of all places, yet again, when the Aurors reached the place, it was already abandoned. I'm not going to guess your reasons for the exposure but I will share my disappointment."

He sighed and reached his hand forward on his desk, tapping his fingers lightly before he opened the top drawer and pulled out a sweet. He put it in his mouth but made a sour face. After a moment, he spoke again. "Minerva made me switch to sugar-free sweets almost ten years ago now. Sometimes I forget that she knows where all of my sweets are stashed." He inhaled and air whistled through his nose.

"I'm disappointed in you for attempting to expose the Wizarding World to Muggles. Surely you know that doing so will lead to our ruin? I mean, you had been such a staunch opponent of it during Grindelwald's war, going so far as to join the Aurors for a time to try and catch his followers."

"Things change," she said.

"And yet they also seem to stay the same," he made it a point to tip his head down to look at her over his spectacles. She doubted he could actually see her but she knew she carried herself like a much younger woman. She did not look or feel her ninety-four years. She felt him attempt to penetrate her mind again before he asked, "How did you do it?"

"I drank a Super Soldier Serum."

The wrinkles around his eyes tightened. She didn't let him question her further. Instead, she stared at him, tempted to do her own bit of probing. She had never done a lot of offensive Mind Arts. She supposed she shouldn't start now.

"Why did you implement the No Muggle-born Policy and when did you start using the Travel Rooms?"

He startled for a moment before visibly regaining his composure. He was getting sloppy in his old age. "Pardon me?"

"The time travel. The Time Rooms. No Muggle-borns. Why?"

"How do you know about that?"

"And the Displacement Teams. How long have they been active? How many lives have you ruined over the last century?"

"I wouldn't say I've ruined any." He licked his lips and pursed them for a moment, seeming to stall. Finally, he answered. "If there were no wizards straddling the line between Magical and Muggle, then Grindelwald's original plans of exposure were limited."

"Your original plans. The Greater Good."

He shifted in his seat a little. "Yes," he admitted, nodding, "Our original plans. But I saw the way of things and changed my mind. I stood in opposition to him. I defeated him." The words sounded rote like he repeated them to himself often.

"Do you know what he asked of me before I killed him?" she asked. The stab of Legilimency he launched at her left her head aching but she did not reel or recant her bluff. "He asked me to kill you and Pohl."

His voice went quiet and there was a deep sadness in it. She wondered if it were for Grindelwald or Pohl. "You killed August."

"I want the time travel to stop. Stop the Displacement Teams."

"But if we—"

"Continue to cling to your Statute of Secrecy. I doubt it will hold much longer even with the complete separation of Magical and mundane. Stop separating Muggle-borns from their families. Neither the Muggle-borns themselves nor the families deserve it."

"The Muggle-borns shouldn't ever know any different and the families have always had their magical children replaced with Muggle children of the same age from the orphanages or foster homes. Something that's quite difficult in this modern age. Though, I wonder, how did you not know this part? Surely if you learned of this when you worked in the Department of Mysteries you would know these details."

She gave a nonchalant shrug. "I must have slipped through the cracks. But you knew that; you knew I was Muggle-born when I started school."

"I assumed we missed you as a child."

"No. Your Displacement Teams took me from my home and bumbled their way through their jobs." She was tired of their conversation. She had no idea if he would follow through on her request so she made one more threat. "You know, when I first learned of the No Muggle-born Policy and how it ruined the life I would have had, I swore I would kill whoever implemented it." She sighed deeply and tilted her head. "And now you're right in front of me."

"I still have the Elder Wand in my possession," he countered. "Do you really want to try my power?"

"I have my own elder wand, you know, and the serum augmented my magic. I once told you I don't play odds I can't win."

"The portraits all around you will tell every Auror and the Minister for Magic that it was you." His cloudy eyes had gone a bit wider, the whites more visible in the candlelight. The portraits, who had all been silent up until now, started murmuring to themselves.

"And I Apparate onto any live Television news programme and tell the world about witches and wizards." The susurrating voices grew louder but none spoke so loud as to be distinguishable above the others. "All I want is for the No Muggle-born Policy to stop."

His lips twisted into another sour look and he tapped his fingers on his desktop again.

"Do it, Dumbledore," one of the women in the portrait high up the wall said. "You've been manipulating the worldwide Wizarding community long enough. I'd think with your anti-Muggle-born rhetoric you'd been brought up through the House of Slytherin rather than Gryffindor."

Another voice, that Hermione recognized in her bones, spoke softly from near the floor. She glanced in the direction of the sound and only then did she notice the large painting turned backwards, leaning against the wall. "Mother would be ashamed of you," Aberforth said. She stared at the back of the painting before looking back at Dumbledore. The other portraits had silenced themselves at Aberforth's quiet declaration.

Dumbledore was looking down at his hands, like the scolding from the two portraits had actually pierced his enormous ego. Hermione sat still and waited. She didn't want to kill him. She didn't want to kill anyone.

She would if she had to.

Finally, after several long moments, He looked back up at her and nodded. He looked older still—like the decision had taken another decade from him. The line of his shoulders had slumped minutely. "Fine. I'll close the No Muggle-born Policy and the Time Rooms."

"Thank you," she said. She stood but before turning away she spoke to the flipped portrait. "Did you know a joke shop took over the Hogshead, Aberforth?"

She couldn't see him, of course, but she heard him snort in amusement. "Only you would be so sentimental, Millie."

She hummed a little response and smiled. She didn't spare the living Dumbledore another look as she strode out of the office. She'd have to head off to the Leaky Cauldron in London for a room. She wondered if Tom would be gone too.

* . * . *

**9 July 2016**

Hermione did a little nostalgic sightseeing the following day before her round-trip Portkey swept her back to Salem. She thanked the staff and headed back home, her pockets full of trinkets and odds and ends she'd been meaning to purchase and hadn't got around to doing yet. She Apparated home, directly into the kitchen.

Snuffles was on the island counter, purring, and the Black Widow was sitting on one of the stools petting her. She looked like she was a bit stiff like the Apparition had scared her but she refused to flinch at the startle.

"Did you feed her?" Hermione asked, taking it in stride that the assassin was just sitting in her kitchen.

"I gave her some of my dinner," the redhead said.

Hermione nodded and shed her coat, hanging it on the back of the second bar stool. She shuffled through the Extended pockets and started pulling out the potions and herbs and ingredients that she'd purchased on her trip. "Is everything all right?" She asked. She opened one of the cupboards and started putting things away.

Snuffles stood and stretched before walking over to investigate the variety of bottles and vials on the countertop.

"Steve, Sam and Wanda are still considered fugitives." Hermione noticed she didn't mention Bucky. She wondered why that was but decided it would be best to close the door on her thoughts about him. He didn't know her. Was afraid of her, of her magic. She should just put their past behind them. It was more than she could have ever asked for just to know he was alive and out from under HYDRA and the fanatics that had held him and kept him as a weapon.

She paused in her task to look back at the other woman. "And?"

"We're still going to do Avengers things. The world still needs us."

"Are you recruiting me or just swinging by to give me an update?"

The woman's lips quirked. "I think we could use someone with your talents on the team. I mean, we have Wanda, but I don't think she can do what you do."

"I tried tangling with superheroes. I don't think I fared well." Hermione shrugged and went back to stocking her supplies. "I don't think Steve would appreciate my company either."

"Because you're a time-witch?"

Hermione stopped again and turned around fully this time, leaning back with her elbows on the counter. "Is that what you called me before? I'm sorry, I haven't studied much of the Slavic languages. I wouldn't go so far as to call myself a time-witch although I have travelled back in time. I have nothing to do with the witches and wizards who did do the meddling with it. I'm Millie, by the way."

"I thought you said your name was Hermione?"

Hermione's smile was sardonic. "Yes, well, I've been called Millie a lot longer than I was called Hermione." She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head a little, jutting her chin out as if to ask, _you?_

"Natasha Romanoff. I know something about having different names."

Hermione offered her a real grin this time as her mind put the jigsaw pieces together. "Alianovna, perhaps?"

Natasha nodded very slowly.

"I remember reading some classified information decades ago. Unauthorized displacement of a six-year-old with that name. Do you know or remember how displaced you were?"

Snuffles gave up sniffing the few remaining bottles and turned back to Natasha. She glanced down to pet the kneazle again. "Sixteen years. I was born in '84."

They were quiet as Snuffles turned around, sniffed Natasha's hand and then turned and walked to the edge of the counter to meow at Hermione. "You want your typical fare, huh?" Hermione asked the cat in a serious voice. She knelt to pull a can of cat food from the cupboard under the island.

Natasha waited until Snuffles had her face in her dish eating before returning to their conversation. "So what do you say? Life of adventure, possibly living out of the Quinjet in tight quarters with four other people? Saving the world?"

Hermione met her gaze, thinking of all the reasons she should probably say no. "Is Snuffles invited?"


	28. Chapter 28

**22 December 2016**

Hermione was browsing the farmer's market in a little town in New Zealand for fresh foods that they could cook up in the magical suitcase that was their living quarters on the Quinjet. Every so often, she would find potions ingredients mixed in with the normal produce and buy it up. Despite an advanced healing factor, Steve ran through her Dittany supplies like crazy.

Her bracelet gave a chirp letting her know that the designated jet keeper was calling them all to return. Sometimes that meant there was a mission, other times it just meant that whoever was stuck waiting for the others was bored and wanted company. Steve was the one stuck waiting at the jet while the others went out into the city this time. He only called for missions.

Hermione paid for the basket of greens she'd been debating over and started back the way she came. The sky was just starting to darken anyway. The walk back to the jet didn't take long. She had become adept at seeing through the stealth field whenever it was parked like it was. The hatch was starting to open. Unless the others were in their living quarters, Steve was the only one on board still. She'd made it back early.

He closed the hatch as she entered and said, "Hey, Millie, I got a call earlier that I think you'd be interested in."

"Can it wait for me to put my purchases away?" she asked, giving him a smile and opening the suitcase lid. She paused to wait for his answer but he seemed inclined to follow. She stepped into the case and down the stairs. After realizing that Natasha hadn't been kidding when she said they would be living in tight quarters out of the back of the jet, Hermione had created a home away from home inside a suitcase, so to speak. They had a large communal kitchen, a living area, a shared bathroom, and two bedrooms. They paired up for sleeping arrangements and someone was always upstairs on the jet in case of emergencies. Things were still tight but they didn't have to suffer rank body odour or little privacy for personal matters. Hermione felt it was the little things that made the arrangement of being on the run bearable.

Hermione set her purchases on the kitchen table and Steve started helping her put them away as he talked. "Bucky called."

She didn't look up from her task. They hadn't talked about Bucky in the six months she'd been a part of the team.

"Or rather, Princess Shuri, King T'Challa's little sister called. They'd brought Bucky out of cryofreeze."

The five-pound bag of apples she held in her hands dropped to the floor. "Out of what?"

Steve bent and picked up the apples, giving them a look over to see how badly they might have bruised. "When we went to Wakanda—after that mess in Siberia?—Bucky chose to go into cryofreeze until Princess Shuri and her team could get the trigger words out of his head. He felt it was safer for everyone."

Hermione inhaled deeply and her head seemed to clear. She'd stopped breathing for a moment. She looked up at him and he stopped inspecting the apples to meet her gaze. She had so many questions, not the least of which was, _why hadn't he come to me to help him?_ She shouldn't ask that though. She knew he was uncomfortable around her because of her magic and he had no way of knowing the depth or breadth of her magical capabilities. It felt like a lump was forming in her throat. She talked around it. "So you're going to go see him for a few weeks? Natasha will be in charge, everything will be fine."

He tilted his head. There was a soft look to his eyes. "I was wondering if you'd like to come with me. It's almost Christmas. Thought we could spend it together. You're right, Natasha can handle things on this end."

She looked away from him. She swallowed thickly, hoping the sensation in her throat would cease, and noted how audible it probably was. "You don't have to invite me. I've spent plenty of Christmases alone. I mean—"

"Please, Millie? I'd like it if you came with me."

She picked up the basket of greens and shuffled it in her hands for a moment, turning around to put them right into the refrigerator. She felt ridiculous for stalling and also for the urge to see Bucky when she thought she'd put what they'd been behind her. She turned around and closed the door to the fridge. "I'll go." If he was out of cryofreeze and safe, it seemed only a matter of time before he would join them on the jet. Even if just to pilot it while the rest of them did their Avengering work. She might as well get used to the uncomfortable feelings being around him stirred up and face the entire thing head-on like the Gryffindor she was.

* . * . *

Natasha had no problems taking lead while Steve and Hermione spent some time in Wakanda with Bucky. She even suggested dropping them off on Christmas Eve so if they wanted to celebrate the holiday they could. While the rest of them were pinning down plans of where the others would be spending the holiday, how long they'd all be apart, and when Natasha would bring the jet by to pick them up, Hermione scrambled madly through every cupboard, pantry, and drawer for an idea for a present for Bucky. She knew she didn't want to use magic to create it but she didn't know what _it_ was.

She even snuck back out to the market for ideas. Most of the stalls were closed or in the process of closing but there were a few that were still open. One at the end was selling jewellery and across from that was one selling yarn and yarn-craft projects. Hermione thought of the sweater she'd knitted once. Maybe this time, she could actually give him a knitted item. It was the middle of summer here in New Zealand and she knew Wakanda was too. A sweater wouldn't work. Besides, she didn't have the time to knit a sweater without magic, but she could knit him a trinket of some sort.

One of the many things that Hermione and Steve had found they had in common was a love of reading. Steve read to catch up and for pleasure, Hermione read for knowledge and joy. Perhaps that was something they all had in common. She didn't know. But a bookmark fit her needs. It was something small, rather insignificant if he felt the need for reciprocity, and it was something she had time to make. So Hermione purchased two small hanks of the softest wool the vendor had in a dark blue, a pale cream and a set of needles.

When she returned to the jet with her purchases, Sam was in the pilot's seat and Natasha was just closing up the hatch and doing a pre-flight check. She gave Hermione a look that told her she knew what she'd gone to find. Hermione ignored her and took her supplies down to the room she shared with Wanda and Natasha. After helping Wanda with dinner, Hermione retired to their room to start on her project.

When she and Steve stepped off the jet in Wakanda, she had a little blue and cream lace bookmark in her pocket. Their arrival was not seen as anything extravagant. They were greeted by the King and his sister, chatted briefly, and then directed towards the outskirts of the city to a paddock and a collection of huts on the edge of a lake. It was very picturesque with the beautiful green forests some distance away and the small scattering of animals that didn't seem prone to wandering.

When Bucky's neighbours saw her and Steve, they waved. Someone called out and a child answered then went scampering into a hut further away from the rest. After a few moments, the child came out and Bucky followed. He was dressed similarly to the other men in their small village, in vibrant red fabrics and barefoot. He had blue fabric slung around his left side, hiding the lost arm. Hermione briefly wondered about the logistics of Skele-Gro and the implantation of metal before dismissing it. She'd told herself she wouldn't' use or talk about magic around him; she didn't want to make her presence there even more uncomfortable and awkward than it likely already was.

When Bucky saw Steve he smiled widely and the two of them shared a long hug. When they started whispering to each other she decided to give them privacy and wandered out into the field. She found a tree stump that seemed to have been worn smooth from use and sat on it. A grey and white goat, who looked heavily pregnant, waddled her way. She head-butted Hermione's hand. She petted the doe on her head and scratched behind her ears. She sat on the tree stump and watched the clouds pass across the open sky, petting the nanny and breathing in the fresh—if also livestock smelling—air. It felt familiar and peaceful.

Hermione heard someone's heartbeat coming closer but she didn't turn around. They cleared their throat to get her attention and she gave one last scratch to the doe's floppy ears before turning around. Bucky was standing there. He'd put on flat wooden sandals. She stood and wiped her hands on her jeans. She dug into her pocket and pulled out the lace bookmark, offering it to him on the palm of her hand. "Happy Christmas," she said. It almost came out like a question but she cleared her throat and said it again, making sure it was a statement this time.

He took it from her and held it in his own hand, looking it over. He smiled and tucked it into a pocket in his garment that she hadn't even noticed. "Thank you." He shrugged a little and added, "Merry Christmas to you too. Sorry I didn't think to get you anything. I didn't realize Steve was going to—I didn't know you were out there with Steve."

"Yeah. Natasha... recruited me, I guess." The nanny goat headbutted Hermione's hand, sneezed on her, and then wandered a few steps away to munch on some grass. Hermione made a face when she looked down at her wet, snotty hand but resisted her need to clean it with magic. She was sure there were facilities around here somewhere. Or the lake. She could go down to the edge of the lake.

"You can—" Bucky started and Hermione looked up at him. He gestured at her sneezed-on hand. "You can use your magic to clean up... It doesn't—I mean, I'm not scared of it. I'm just... cautious."

Hermione wiggled the fingers of one hand at the other, letting her magic whisk the goat snot from her palm. He watched her and didn't flinch.

"I remember bits and pieces from the past, the war. It's not all there but I think I remember a big portion of it." His smile looked strained and Hermione sought to ease whatever worry he might be having.

"It's okay if you don't remember me. We only really had the one date anyway." She gave a little self-deprecating smile that didn't feel like it conveyed any happiness whatsoever. "Ours was a more physical sort of relationship."

His smile slowly faded and he studied her face for a moment. She couldn't handle the scrutiny and looked away. The afternoon sun illuminated the trees in the distance. She almost wished for a camera to capture it. When he didn't speak for another heavy moment she chanced looking back at him. There was confusion on his face. His eyebrows were minutely closer together which brought out the age wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. "I remember I wanted to marry you."

Whatever barrier Hermione had built around her heart shattered like glass. She felt tears burn at the backs of her eyes and she couldn't stop herself from blinking to stop them from going any further. She bit her bottom lip and forced her emotions down. He did not need her to fall apart in front of him. Finally, after a short, intense struggle with herself, she looked back up at him.

His confusion had faded and what remained in his expression was soft and tender. One side of his lips quirked up into a little smile that looked more genuine than the previous one. "I think we should probably get to know each other again. Maybe start over. No secrets or omissions this time." He reached forward and clasped her hand with his. "If that's all right with you?"

She nodded and a nervous tingling seemed to gather in her stomach. Like butterflies.

The goat headbutted her again just as Bucky tugged her closer. They both laughed even as Hermione turned around to pet the goat again. "How about you name the kid Abe for me for Christmas?"

"Abe, huh?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you the story of Bucky the billy goat in return."

He snorted in amusement. "You named a goat after me?" He asked as he started strolling back towards the huts.

"He wasn't my goat," Hermione explained. "He was Abe's goat."

Bucky looked down at her and smiled; it didn't look strained or fearful or worried anymore. "Well, I guess that makes sense."


End file.
